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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Cliap.-.-..... Copyright No. 

Shelf..rS._SSn 

\%'\'^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SWORD AND CROSS 



Sword and Cross 



and Other Poems 



BY 



^ 



Charles Eugene Banks, 

CO-AUTHOR OF 

" In Hampton Roads." 




Chicago and New York: 
RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 






49415 

Copyright, 1899, by Rand, McNally * Co. 



SECOND COPY, 



TO 

MY WIFE 

' The wee cot and the cricket's chirr. 
Love, and the glad, sweet face of her." 
—James Whitcomb Riley. 



PRETACC 



COLUMBIA 

While mortal nionarchs one and all, 
Are blindly groping to their fall, 
America, behold thy queen 
Survey her broad domain serene, 
Move all unguarded where she will 
A subtle essence none may kill. 
Though balked ambition, mounting high, 
Slay openly, or secretly 
Drop poison to the loving cup 
Of trusting rival come to sup; 
Though every crown of every clime 
Come tumbling down (0 happy time!) 
Though death claim all the heirs that purr 
About the courts — what is't to her? 
She 'smiles at steel and drug intense, 
Immortal — nature's recompense 
For banished throne and lordly train — 
A goddess born of soul and brain, 
A child of meditative thought, 
A floating vision fancy-caught, 
A rapture blown into a reed, 
Columbia, a queen indeed.' 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Sword and Cross, 15 

On Guard in Luzon, 19 

The Singer and the Song, .... 22 

The Rocky Mountain Anemone, .... 25 

The Dreamer, 26 

Garnered Treasures, 28 

The Weight o' Discontent, .... 30 

October, 33 

Looking Upward, 35 

The Hero of Thanksgiving, 37 

Hawaiian Love Song, 40 

The Force of Love, 42 

Ring in the Nazarene, 44 

Sun Worshipers, . .;.... 46 

The Prince of Light, 47 

Auerbach's Easter, 49 

Fishin', 51 

Where She Used to Be, 53 

The Traveler's Night at Home, ... 54 

Just Over the Hill, 59 

When Love is Queen, 61 

First of the Season, 62 

Amber 63 

Santa Claus, 64 

Farmer Bunner, ....... 66 

Blessings That Come Unawares 67 

The True American, 69 

Gethsemenea, 71 

The Universal Union, 72 

The River of Love, 75 

Auerbach's Baby, 77 

vii 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Spring, 79 

A Poem, 80 

E-O-Eave 81 

Waiting, 82 

A Season of Peace, 83 

The Blackbird, 84 

No Death for Heroes, 86 

Plea for the Flowers, 89 

Prayer for Kipling When He Lay at the Point 

of Death, 90 

Thanksgiving at the Homestead, ... 91 

The Soul of Old Glory, 93 

My Robbie. 94 

Under the Cypress, 95 

Tacita, 97 

Mismated, ........ 98 

Love's Telling, 99 

Victor Hugo, 100 

The Pansy, . loi 

When Bessie Comes Down to the Spring, . 102 

Love's Oracles, 104 

Sweet, Beautiful Eyes, . . . . . 105 

The Bitter-Sweet Vine, 106 

The Watcher by the Sea, .... 108 

Discovery, iii 

Ambition, iii 

Happy the Man 112 

Reflection 114 

Industry . 116 

Between the Worlds, . . . . . . 116 

On the Border, 117 

Twilight in a Church-Yard, .... 121 

A Christmas Carol, 123 

Through a Glass Darkly, . . . . 125 

Woman, 127 

Innocence 127 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

The American Farmer 128 

Memorial Morning, 130 

Thanksgiving Hymn 133 

Well Done, 135 

Love is Never Old 137 

Criticism, 138 

The Approach of Winter, .... 139 

Retribution, 140 

When the Grip Is in the Loft, . . . 142 

Easter Promises, 145 

The Spirit of Silence, 146 

The Gospel of Rest, 148 

The Singer Whom Nobody Knows, . . . 151 

The Better Birth, 152 

The Soul of Life Is Love, . . . . 153 

Sweet Rock-a-By 154 

Long Years Ago, 155 

Columbus 157 

The Dead Crcesus 158 

The New Parson, 159 

Who Shall Judge 161 

Strength of Simplicity, . . .' . , .164 

Alone 165 

Ab Extra, 167 

Dawn and Dusk, 168 

O, Come With Me 169 

The Silent Land, 170 

In Different Measure, 171 

The Pessimist 172 

Poor Old World, 173 

June, 174 

The Fallen Leaf, 175 

Liberty Bell at the World's Fair, . . 176 

Unrewarded, 178 

The Coming Day, 179 

Clothes Worship 180 



X CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Good in Everything, i8i 

A Summer Picture, 184 

Under the Blossoms 186 

The Hand That Holds the Plow, . . . 189 

To A Wounded Bird 191 

Easter Lilies, 192 

Better Than Gold, i93 

He Wrote for All, i95 

Sisters of Mercy, . . . . . . . 196 

In Russet Clad, 196 

Love's Completeness i97 

Forsaken, 200 

The Better Year, 201 

The Outcasts, 202 

Snow Violets 204 

The False Note, 205 

Sub Rosa 206 

Eternity, 207 

An April Evening, 208 

On an Old Door-Stone at Yale, . . . 208 

The Poet, 209 

'Tis Noble to Labor, 211 

I Know, 212 

An Autumn Tragedy, 213 

Hope, 214 

A Legend of Esquimau Bay, . . . . 215 

Wisdom, 219 

May, 220 

March, . , ^ 220 

A Morning Spin, 221 

Handsomest of All, 223 

Epistle to Opie Read, 226 

Lou M, Wilson, 230 

The Horse-Shoe Badge, 231 

Whittier, 233 

Grant — A Requiem, 234 



CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

Solitude, 236 

The Sire of Eight 238 

John Albro 239 

Christmas Eve at the Old Homestead, . . 240 

Father Damien, 243 

M'CuLLOUGH 246 

James, 247 

The Maestro, 250 

Keeley, 250 

The Battered Old Grip 251 

The Oldest o' Them All, 254 

An Etching, 257 

Dewey 258 

A Troubled Conscience, 259 

The Country Terrible 260 

Uncle Sam to the Philippines, .... 261 

Love's Child, 262 

Autumn, 263 

Grace Duffie Boylan 265 

The Duty Sergeant, 266 

The Spirit of Truth, 267 



SWORD AND CROSS 



SWORD AND CROSS 



Thought makes for freedom! Who is free? 

The wise, and he alone, 
For wisdom hath a kindly heart, 

While ignorance is stone. 

The wond'rous World is compassed by 

The clear-eyed soul that knows 
It hath no master save itself — 

Free as the wind that blows. 

While free men sacrifice to give 

A fettered slave release 
Humanity will upward march 

Toward universal Peace. 

We know not if the future hold 

The bliss for which we sigh, 
But Truth is an eternal force, 

And Mercy cannot die. 

Now thought goes back on swallow wings 

To that momentous morn 
In June of Seventeen-Seventy-Six — 

That day our flag was born! 



16 SWORD AND CROSS. 

All beautiful upon the breeze 

It ran along the sky — 
A thousand rifles welcome cried 

And cannons roared reply. 

The sunbeams came in haste to kiss 

Its virgin colors whirled 
In joy aloft — God's gracious sign 

That Right should rule the world. 

Stern, rugged sires and sweet-faced dames, 

With all their trooping young, 
Upraised their shining brows to heav'n, 

And sang as Israel sung: — 

"Boom! iron-throated cannon, boom! 

Blow trumpets till ye crack! 
Our way is forward up the hill 

And naught shall turn us back!" 

Then Pleasure grasped the marshal fife, 

And Peace the war-like drum — 
While every patriot cried, "To arms! 

Columbia has come!" 

No lordly train her state disclosed, 

No golden crown or crest. 
She came a daughter of the fields, 

A lily on her breast. 



SWORD AND CROSS. 17 

Yet born to crush the serpent's head — 

The simple cross she wore 
First seen in Juda — freedom's sign — 

Stands firmest on our shore. 

As beamed the star of Bethlehem 

Through centuries of strife, 
So Liberty, the child of Love, 

Will live to gladden life. 

And men will follow where she leads, 

O'er mountain, plain and sea, 
Columbia upon their lips. 

Till all the world be free! 

Till all the world, one brotherhood, 

Flame-purified of dross. 
Each unto each is merciful 

As Christ upon the cross. 

To Juda's Lord we bow the knee. 

The deeds of Greece we sing, 
And to thy shores, O savage folk. 

The soul of both we bring! 

Come thou and take this proflfered flag, 

Reserved for him alone 
Who holds his freedom dearer than 

A kingdom and a throne! 



18 SWORD AND CROSS 

For where its blessed shadow falls 
Shall bloom the flower and vine, 

And hand in hand through wood and field 
Our blood shall romp with thine, 

While guns whose voices spoke of death 

Support the climbing rose, 
And all the trophies of the war 

Beneath the cross repose. 



ON GUARD IN LUZON. 19 



ON GUARD IN LUZON 

Slow back and forth with growing dread, 

My lonely round I pace. 
The night is silent as the dead 

In some last resting place. 

The sad-faced moon, low-hung, immense, 

Seems falling from the sky. 
Afar the silent, ghostly tents 

In martial order lie. 

Off shore, huge bulking on the tide, 

Gray ships of battle creep, 
While fiery-eyed about them glide 

The dragons of the deep. 

Strange whispers float from each retreat, 

At every sound I start, 
And heavy-fingered moments beat 

A tattoo on my heart. 

Where'er I look each object takes 
Some foreign shape and grows 

Upon my vision till it breaks 
To twenty quickened foes. 



20 SWORD AND CROSS 

With noiseless feet across my path 
They leap to crouch and gibe, 

Their goblin faces black with wrath, 
An unknown, spectral tribe. 

"Midnight! All's well!" The hollow cry 

Sounds doleful as a knell; 
"Post nine!" I hasten to reply, 

"Midnight, and all is well." 

To fight when cannon cheer the strife — 
When steel to steel is laid — 

To die red-soled with dews of life, 
By worthy foeman's blade — 

To flash one lingering look along 

A ragged, charging line. 
The last faint prayer a battle song — 

Would such a death were mine! 

But here to feel the sudden sting 

Of coward's blade — to lie 
A staring, crook'd, deserted thing — 

God! what a death to die! 

A night bird far within the wood 

For sudden gladness sings; 
"I fear not, for the Lord is good," 

Through all the silence rings. 



ON GUARD IN LUZON 21 

And in that song I hear a prayer, 

Low, solemn, trusting, clear, 
Of one who's doing picket there 

For me on picket here. 

Still back and forth alone I pace. 

But went the hour I tell, 
I see her pure, uplifted face, 

And know that all is well. 



22 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE SINGER AND THE SONG 

He wrote the song the soldiers sung; 

Poor, crippled and unknown. 
They triumphed — how the heavens rung 
When they came marching home and hung 
Their trophies in the halls of state 
And wore the favors of the great! — 

He died, unwept, alone. 

'Twas come again, the sweet-toned day; 
Again they stripped the trees of May 
And came, close-buttoned to the chin. 
Brave youth and vet'ran worn and thin, 
To hall and park and post and grove, 
While mother, wife, and sister wove 
The lily, rose, and violet 
And daffodil and mignonette 
To garland fair and sweet bouquet 
To deck the graves of blue and gray. 

Again the fife call, loud and shrill. 
Again the drumbeat, roll and trill. 
Again the steady, rhythmic tramp 
That once betokened field and camp. 
Again the quick, commanding note. 
Again the song the cripple wrote. 



THE SINGER AND THE SONG 23 

Mark where he sleeps — no shaft to grace 
The sunken, bare, neglected place; 

But one who knew 

tn passing threw 
His boutonniere upon the grave 
And told a comrade. Down the line 
It ran as runs along the shore 

A broken wave; 
"My flowers for him!" "And mine!" "And mine!" 
They cried. "Our country owes him more 
Than all; his song inspired the deed." 
And so till eve the blossoms fell 
A fragrant shower. At last 'tis well. 
And yet for him, poor bruised reed, 
One act of kindness when he lay 
In yonder bare, deserted room 
Had changed his winter into May, 
Had made his world to bloom. 



Who knows? Mayhap the soul of him 
Who slept beneath that fragrant pile 

Swept downward from some planet's rim. 

Swept past the curved, barbaric moon. 
Soft thrumming on its harp the while, 

Till, hovering o'er that sacred spot. 
It sang this new glad song of cheer, 
A song to North and South land dear, 

A song that mothers love to croon, 



24 SWORD AND CROSS 

As thus: God knows nor place nor lot, 
His children all or far or near, 
The Saxon and the cavalier, 
•The rose-tree and forget-me-not. 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN ANEMONE 25 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN ANEMONE 

(Written in the Garden of the Gods near Manitou, Colorado, 
April 12, 1893.) 

Sweet silver-stemmed anemone, 
Fair delicate transparency, 
Thy pale empurpled cup is filled 
With nectar Hebe's trembling hand 
From her now useless cup has spilled. 
Poor Hebe, standing all aghast 
Upon the sacred mountain side, 
To see the gods contemptuous cast 
From throne magnificent. 

Swung wide 
The gates, so long their grandeur kept 
Close shut from eyes profane: 

The tide 
Of progress to oblivion swept 
Thy people, Manitou, and thou, 
O Spirit Great, must shrinking flee 
From cave to cave of thine own hills. 
There's none so poor to name thee now — 
That name, alas, has come to be 
The sacrilegious sign of trade. 
What wonder frighted Hebe spills 
This nectar that I quaflf from thee, 
Anemone, Anemone. 



26 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE DREAMER 

What part of me is this that goes 
Straight forth into the fields if I 
But see the color of a rose 
Or hear a lonely sparrow cry? 

Neglectful of the task whose wage 
Scarce keeps me from a debtor's cage? 

I know where you are stretched along 

The grassy border of a brook, 
That dances to the robin's song 

Or laughs whene'er the cowslips look 
Into its depths to see, poor elves, 
A wrinkled semblance of themselves. 

The fields are billowed like a sea — 
The robber wind your ready slave — 
While you, contented as a bee, 
Half-drunken in his clover cave, 
List to the fife the crickets lip. 
And watch the honeysuckles trip. 

The ants desert their toil for games, 

A holiday the songsters keep; 
For you a cloudland city flames 
All gorgeous o'er the Western steep, 
And earth runs wildly, madly, free — 
Ah, God, the walls that compass me! 



THE DREAMER 27 

How shall my nest of waiting birds 

Be feathered from this barren brain? 

What are to them the lowing herds 

And what the sunshine-flooded plain? 

Unsouled, I linger helpless here, 

With no companion but my fear. 

Come back, come back, oh, truant soul! 

Come back to guide this idle pen; 
The Juggernauts of commerce roll 
To crush the hopes of dreaming men. 
Without you, mine must perish so — 
Yet forth into the fields you go. 



28 SWORD AND CROSS 



GARNERED TREASURES 

Behold the garnered treasures of the field! 

All promises of April are fulfilled; 
The earth exhausted with its bounteous yield, 
As some brown Samson suddenly o'er-willed, 
Shorn of its flowing locks all nerveless lies 
A hapless subject to the low' ring skies. 

From distant fields come lowing herds of kine 

To lie at ease beside the bursting rick, 
Content to know, with reason wond'rous fine, 
If, fast or slow, the clock of Nature tick, 
That shelter, food and drink in plenty wait 
To cheer their stay within the farmyard gate. 

What though old Winter rouses in the north. 

Who fears him now that plenty reigns supreme? 
The honest yeoman lead their children forth 
To mingle voices with the praiseful stream. 
The prayerful rushes and the chanting wood, 
In grand thanksgiving to the God of good. 

Impatient Love, now weary tasks are done, 

Trips all as lightly to the homely tune 
As fairies sporting where the brooklets run 
Through rose-trees nodding in the month of June. 
Hope long deferred a sweet fulfillment finds, 
As grapes give answer to the bending vines. 



GARNERED TREASURES 29 

Not rural homes alone to-day are blest, 

The mother welcomes everywhere her child, 
The worldling stands a sinner self-confessed 
And is again to Virtue reconciled. 
Thanksgiving for the spirit born of Thee, 
O man of God, in blessed Galilee! 

From lowly vale and lofty mountain peak 

Still prayer and praise and glad thanksgiving rise; 
The strong grow thoughtful of the poor and weak, 
The dove of peace from cot to palace flies, 

While strange, sweet music wakened by her wings 
Thrills every heart till every creature sings. 



30 SWORD AND CROSS. 



THE WEIGHT O' DISCONTENT 

There's a heap o' foolish chatter, 'bout the way the 

world is run, 
Men an' women alius tellin' o' the way it might be 

done, 
But it seems to me the wisest jus' to let her roll an' 

siz, 
Knowin' discontent is catchin' as the yeller fever is. 

Carter hed a quarter-section that fur growin' crops was 

great, 
Land was rich as all creation — warn't no better in the 

state. 
Bill kep' workin' late an' airly — kep' the children at it 

too, 
'Ceptin' when the school was runnin' — would ha' pulled 

the mortgage thro'. 
If he'd had a mite q' backin', but his wife she couldn't 

see 
Any future les'n famine — case in pint you must agree. 
Fur Bill caught her discontentment — got discouraged, 

lost his grip, 
An' the quarter-section dwindled to a twenty-acre strip. 

Mercy Meredith's another — wuz as cheerful, peart an' 

spry 
As 'n April-mornin' robin, or a flicker in July, 
Father died an' left the humsted, house an' land an' 

all to her. 



THE WEIGHT 0' DISCONTENT 31 

Every body said 'twuz proper; well she married Jacob 

Burr. 
Proud an' selfish man wuz Jacob — holdin' gladness 

as a crime, 
Kep' a naggin at her, preachin' meek submission all 

the time; 
Jacob had no cause to blame her ef in time she turned 

to find 
In some other voice the music that wuz singin' in her 

mind. 
'Course she's got to bear the burden, but 'twas him that 

sewed the seed 
O' the discontent that druv her to commit the wilful 

deed. 

Where's the tise o' seeking trouble? gladness dwells in 

everything. 
Moles that burrow in the meadow, birds that mount 

an' sail an' sing. 
Are the care o' Him that made 'em — they are happy one 

an' all — 
While a man can leap the ditches he has no excuse to 

crawl ; 
You may ride a higher stepper than the gentle nag I 

own. 
But my horse may still be joggin' when your hand- 
some bay is blown. 
Runnin' streams '11 tell a story jest as sweet to you 

or me 
If we've tuned ourselves to hear it. All that's best in 

life is free. 



32 SWORD AND CROSS. 

Man may carry all o' Heaven 'thout his shoulders bein' 
bent, 

But is crushed to earth with bearin' half a pint o' dis- 
content. 

So it seems to me the wisest, jest to let the old world 
siz, 

Knowin' discontent is catchin' as the yeller fever is. 



OCTOBER 33 



OCTOBER 

AH day I have been in the woods alone, 

A day so quiet my soul could hear 
The soul of the forest in pensive moan — 
The soul of the forest in undertone, 
Bewailing the dying year. 



In dim, soft shadow I roamed at will 

Where brooks, leaf-mufifled and languid, flow. 
So tensely tuned was the time, and still, 
I could feel the heart of the forest thrill 
With the presage of coming woe. 



I could feel the heart of the forest beat 

In sorrow at loss of its beautiful crown; 
While up from the grasses an odor sweet — 
A faint, sweet odor arose to meet 
The leaves that were drifting down. 



The bright green leaves of the summer, alas! 

Now brown, and amber, and red, and gold — 
I fell with my face in the dying mass. 
For I felt the wings of a spirit pass, 

And the touch of a hand was cold — 



34 SWORD AND CROSS 

The gruesome touch of a ghostly hand 

And the sigh of a soul's despair! 
For the foes of Life were abroad in the land, 
The wings of Destruction the forest fanned, 

And Beauty was dying there. 

With my face in the crimson leaves I wept, 
(Dear leaves, so gay in the warm June weather!) 

And into my bosom a longing crept. 

That my soul with the soul of the leaves had kept 
On into the great Forever. 

For dear to me was the Summer's bloom — 
But the world cares little to understand; 
To-night I sit in my lonely room. 
With my lonely life, in the deepening gloom, 
A withered leaf in my hand. 



LOOKING UPWARD 35 



LOOKING UPWARD 

Universal retrogression! coward phrase on perjured 

lips, 
Burdening our song and story till distracted fancy 

trips 
On the heels of revolution. Hath all pleasure taken 

wing? 
Why delight in croaking ravens and neglect the birds 

that sing? 
Why uproot the corn and lilies, sowing thistles in their 

stead, 
To deplore the loss of beauty and bewail the lack of 

bread? 
Come again, oh wise Athenian! Come again, oh gen- 
tle Pan! 
Ere the mind is slave to muscle and creation miss the 

man. 



Adam, seeking through an Eden, broke the twig he 

could not bend; 
Eve, companion of perfection, rent the veil she could 

not mend, 
Yet there always is a David for the giant's overthrow; 
Science breaks the mass of substance — flesh is gross 

and all too slow 



36 SWORD AND CROSS 

For this fearless age of progress; love will ever be the 
food 

Of a Moses or a Lincoln. Hearts that win and cherish 
good — 

Gentle hearts that scatter blessings, these perfect the 
Maker's plan, 

Moving mind to conquer muscle ere the muscle con- 
quers man. 

Dainty fingers weaving laces, sturdy hands that mine 

and mold. 
Faith inspires them, duty guides them, or their tale is 

never told. 
Or their task is never finished and the threads of silk 

or steel 
Fall a weak and tangled pattern — reason vivifies the 

reel. 
'Twas the heart and not the hammer changed the cabin 

to a home; 
'Twas the soul and not the chisel carved the statue, 

shaped the dome; 
Strongest beast may rule the jungle, swords obey a 

woman's fan; 
Thus the breath of life is growing to its consummation 

—Man. 



THE HERO OF THANKSGIVING 37 



THE HERO OF THANKSGIVING 

Far and away the swallows dip and rise, 
Among the last of Summer's devotees, 
They write Regret across the Autumn skies 

Flecked all with white like inland running seas; 
Deserted nests that cling the eaves along 

Are empty, but the ricks below are full — 
The heart of man is glad to grateful song, 
For plenty makes his prospect beautiful. 
E'en the raggedy man, 

Napoleon, 
Who wags his beard at the clock. 
In this thankful time 
Sits down to dine 
With the stiff old Puritan stock. 



The children come to feast abundant spread, 

Grown children with the silver in their hair. 
And with them marked by hesitating tread 

And air subdued, their own dear offspring fare, 
Afrighted still, till grandma's voice assures. 

And clouded skies begin at once to clear; 
She to her own each fainting heart secures, 

And purifies with love the atmosphere; 
But the raggedy man, 
Napoleon, 



38 SWORD AND CROSS 

A genius gone astray, 
Through turkey thighs 
Makes curious cries 

Upon Thanksgiving day. 



Before the feast what earnest prayers are said, 

And at its close what heartfelt songs are sung, 
Care and Regret to other scenes are fled 

While words of kindness trip from every tongue. 
The Graces bend to lift the mystic veil 
That hides the future on all other days, 
Where Plenty stands and Comfort cries "All hail! 
Ye sons of men, join in the songs of praise!" 
Then the raggedy man, 

Napoleon, 
.Sits high in his humble seat, 
And he sings and he laughs, 
As he freely quaffs, 
And he orders the dark o' the meat. 



O rags that push the cup of Hope aside 
At other times, your power is gone today; 

The world has turned her back on selfish pride. 
To do good deeds without the hope of pay; 

So shall sweet sleep unwonted pillows bless 
When western slopes have swallowed up the sun, 



THE HERO OF THANKSGIVING 39 

And for each act of special tenderness 
Unto the poor on this Thanksgiving done 
The raggedy man, 

Napoleon, 
Who lives like the sun or stream, 
Like the moon or rose 
With no thought of clothes 
Will bring you a blissful dream. 



40 SWORD AND CROSS 



HAWAIIAN LOVE SONG 

(The phrase upon which this poem turns is the most tender and 
eloquent expression of love and affection in the Hawaiian 
language.) 

Our Northern tongue for battle, 

For argument and trade, 
But not for wooing looks of love 

From eyes of doubting maid, 
More sweet the story's uttered 

In far away Hawaii, 

Aloha nui loa 

Aloha nui oe. 



The Dane, the Celt, the Saxon, 

Are lovers quite as true 
As any e'er the tropic sun 

To dreamy roundness drew; 
But none can voice so sweetly 

Love's glad triumphant joy. 
As this untaught Hawaiian, 

Aloha nui oe. 



Pale autumn pensive lingers 
Along the crimson wood. 

Or bends to weep above the spot 
Where late the poppy stood, 



HAWAIIAN LOVE SONG 41 

And sighs as sighs the lover 
For one in far Hawaii^ 
Aloha nut loa 
Aloha nui oe. 



The mother rocking softly 

Her first-born, crooning low 
The quaint, unwritten song of love 

That babes and mothers know. 
Drifts where the palms are sighing. 

In far away Hawaii, 

Aloha nui loa 

Aloha nui oe. 

Sweet phrase, all unacquainted 

With sound of care or strife. 
Like love untutored come to speech 

You bubble into life! 
O, dusky-eyed Koolele, 

O lithe-limbed blue-eyed boy. 

Aloha nui loa 

Aloha nui oe. 



42 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE FORCE OF LOVE 

Hold back thy whip, O master! 

Hold back thy curse and frown! 
The demons of disaster 

Fear not the sword or gown; 
The demons of disaster — 

They troop to wreck all ships — 
Than winds of Heaven faster — 

Hold back thy frowns and whips. 
For these, the poor, thy brothers be- 
Remember Him of Galilee! 

What other power can save thee 

From tempter drawing near? 
From devils all that brave thee? 

His love alone they fear; 
The devils all that brave thee 

What other is to stay? 
Think on the love He gave thee; 

Love ever and alway. 
By sacrifice men come to bliss, 
There is no other path but this. 

Behold the star that shineth 

Forever in the east! 
Behold the rose that twineth 

Above the lair of beast! 



THE FORCE OF LOVE 43 

Behold the rose that twineth 

To bless the monarch's bower, 
The same His hand designeth 
To cheer the toiler's hour! 
The space between the poor and great 
His presence doth obliterate. 

O perfect love that chideth 

The lightest thought of wrong! 
O love that still abideth 

To make the weaker strong! 
O love that still abideth 

When all else here hath fled, 
Thou art! all safely rideth 

Thy barque the river dread. 
To make a lion of the dove, 
'Tis thine, O silent force of love. 



44 SWORD AND CROSS 



RING IN THE NAZARENE 

Born in a manger in Bethlehem, 

Thorny the path he trod. 
Mournfully heavy the cross He bore, 

Heir to the wisdom of God. 

Mournfully heavy the cross He bore. 

Broken and steep the way, 
Dearer His message because of pain. 

Light of the world to-day. 

Dearer His message because of pain, 

Like by its like caressed, 
Gracious as rain to the sun-dried plain, 

Millions those tears have blest. 

Gracious as rain to the sun-dried plain. 
Turning the dull earth bright, 

Truth is in blossom because of Him, 
Ring in the Child of Light! 



Truth is in blossom because of Him, 

Sin is grown old and gray, 
Welcome the gladness of doing good, 

Welcome the gentler way. 



RING IN THE NAZARENE 45 

Welcome the gladness of doing good, 

Welcome the joy of love, 
Banish the serpent, the hawk and owl, 

Welcome the child and dove. 

Banish the serpent, the hawk and owl, 

Banish the man-made creed, 
Welcome the brotherhood broad, divine. 

Welcome the Man indeed. 

Welcome the brotherhood broad, divine, 

Banish the narrow and mean. 

So shall His kingdom be over the earth — 

Ring in the Nazarene! , 



46 SWORD AND CROSS 



SUN WORSHIPERS 

The southwind whispered the slender grasses, 

Thank God for our prince, the sun, 
The brooks that sang through the mountain passes 

Cried Free by grace of the sun\ 
And the bearded grain on the plain below 
Bowed down to the dust in a fervent glow 

Of gratefulness to the sun. 
The forest thrilled with a joy intense, 
And the whole earth stirred with a gladsome sense 

Of thankfulness to the sun. 

hope of the earth and joy of the earth, 

However the clouds may run, 
health of the earth and wealth of the earth, 

joy of the world, good sun\ 
So the wise men chant as they bow the head 
When the grain is housed and the feast is spread — 

Ere the revelry is begun. 
Ere song be sung or jest be spoken. 
Ere salt be lipped or bread be broken, 

Thank God for our prince the sun. 



THE PRINCE OF LIGHT 47 



THE PRINCE OF LIGHT 

'Tis not the sun that rises in the east 

To light this joyous morn 
But Christ himself the interceding Priest 

From sepulture new-born. 

His glory all the vault of heaven illumes, 

Earth wakens to his smile. 
The sacred flower the holy fane perfumes, 

Dome, altar, pew and aisle. 

No grander sign the blessed God above 

To wayward man has given 
Than Thou, our Brother, risen Lord of Love, 

Whereby to enter heaven. 

Where'er we stray, whate'er our creed may be, 
What though we've worshiped Doubt 

Throughout the year, today we worship Thee, 
And cast the Foul Fiend out. 

The clear-voiced bells, keyed to a mellow tone, 

Are chiming far and near; 
"Behold the angels roll the stone away, 

The Purified appear!" 



48 SWORD AND CROSS 

Afar the Mount of Calvary looms along 

The sky, with crimson pied, 
Upon it stands the Cross, erect and strong. 

Where Self was crucified. 

But. from its shade the spirit, Sacrifice, 

Moves peaceful and serene, 
And thought by thought, mounts unto clearer skies 

Till, poised the worlds between, 

She softly calls unto the fainting soul; 

"Thou wert not born to be 
A dying thing. Behold the destined goal 

Is Immortality!" 

'Tis not the sun that rises in the East 

To glorify this day 
But Christ himself, the interceding Priest, 

To lead and light the way. 



AUERBACH'S EASTER 49 



AUERBACH'S EASTER 

Dher year has blendy days vor vork, 

Und very few vor fun, 
Like Yuly Fordt, ven efifery phoy 

Is youst a vorking guhn; 
Or Arbor day vhen all der town 

Is like von great big dhree, 
Or Labor day, vhen not a man 

Vas kvite so big as me. 
I like me dhoo Thanksgiving 5ay 

Vhen gobble-turkeys fall. 
But Christmas time my Yacob tays 

Vas youst dher best of all. 



Yorge Vashington he has his day, 

Vehm all dher bandts kom oudt; 
St. Patrick, doo, ven Irishmens 

Dher shamrock vears r.boudt. 
But vhen my poys dher haymow climbs 

Und hens forget to lay, 
I say undo Katrina dhen: 

Twas coming Easter day. 

I learn me dot vhen milliner shop^ 
Vas hiring plendy clerks 



50 SWORD AND CROSS 

Und eggs vas getting high in price 

Dhere's not a hen vot vorks. 
But vhen dher Easter morning comes 

Und vhile dher choirs sing, 
Dose poys run in mit eggs enough 

To fill a circus ring: 
Plue eggs, prown eggs, und red, und green, 

Dher like I nefifer see, 
"Dher hens vas laid dhem all lasdt night," 

Dhey cry, und vinks by me. 

Dot teaching of dher Christian church. 

Has saved dher vorld, I know, 
Und idt vas beautiful to see 

Dher violet auf dher snow, 
Dher Resurrection vot you call 

Dot makes der future sure, 
I like dot ferry much myself 

Auf all der vorld vas pure. 
I like to hear dose organs boom, 

Und peoples sing und sing, 
Till all dher town vas like dher voods 

Of Schermany in Spring. 
But ve must haf religions more 

To keep my poys away 
F'om hen's nests all dher veek before 

Dot holy Easter day. 



FISHIN' 51 



FISHIN' 

Hungry fur a res'ful time? 
Come t' Iowa an' climb 

Straddle ov a stranded log 
'At a freshet's landed on 
One o' them air san'bars in 
Th' ole Wapsipinnicon. 

Minnie, grasshopper, er frog, 
Arry one is good fur bait, 
Then jest stretch yourself an' wait; 
Reelin' in an' payin' out. 
Birds a-chirpin' all about — 
Meby get a sudden strike 
From a silver-bellied pike, 
Er a Anglo-Saxon bass, 
Fightin' t' the very las'. 
'Spose y' never see a fin, 
'Spose y' never git a bite, 
Thars th' clouds a driftin' white, 
An' the pipin' plovers run 
Down the san'bars in the sun; 
An' the water croonin' sweet 
Through th' willers at y're feet 
While y' loll an' blink an' doze, 
Wond'rin ef th' river flows 
Right er left, er's standin' still, 



52 SWORD AND CROSS 

Wond'rin' not enough to care, 
Straddle uv th' basswood there. 
Jes' you shake this roar an' fuss 
Fur a week ur two with us. 
Laziness '11 get her fill 
Doin' nothin' — 'thout a wish, 
On'y jes' t' fish an' fish. 
Iowa I'm talkin' on, 
An' the Wapsipinnicon. 



WHERE SHE USED TO BE 53 



■ WHERE SHE USED TO BE 

This is the blessed chamber where 

She used to be 
Who made each hour of worldly care 

So glad to me; 
Or near or far, while this one spot 

Her presence blest, 
Fear or defeat I knew them not, 

But all was best. 

So light the armor, yet so strong, 
Her fingers knit, 

I rode triumphant over wrong 
Because of it. 

Stripped, scourged, unhelped to onward fare- 
God pity me! 

Alone within the chamber where 
She used to be. 



54 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE TRAVELER'S NIGHT AT HOME 

Gray twilight draws her curtains adown the windowed 

west, 
Each object, shadow mantled, half seen is, half is 

guessed, 
The stars o'erhead are blinking, as newly waked from 

sleep, 
And drowsily regretting the vigil they must keep; 
Sounds have a sharp distinctness the sun-hours never 

know, 
And seem upon the senses to riper fullness grow, 
While trembles through the valley, like thunder after 

rain. 
The steady, solemn rumble of the near approaching 

train. 

The over-crowded pavement, where lamps un-lidded 

glare, 
Presents the old-time picture — ^Joy walking with 

Despair; 
But where the suburbs nestle, beyond the city gates. 
The people quiet gather about their cheerful grates 
In neat and cosy parlors which breathe a restful air 
That wakes the heart to rapture is felt no other where. 
Ah! fortune-favored mortals, with never need to roam. 
You may not know how fondly the traveler loves his 

home. 



THE TRAVELER'S NIGHT AT HOME SS 

The wife is tripping, tripping with anxious, thoughtful 

haste, 
To see the many knick-knacks in pleasing order 

placed; 
Here dressing-gown and slippers rest, with inviting 

look. 
Beside the favored arm-chair rolled into pleasant nook 
Before the polished hearth-stone — the foot-stool ready 

stands — 
The very air seems softened by touch of loving hands, 
And mother-eyes are beaming with an expectant light 
Which says, "O time the sweetest, my traveler comes 

tonight!" 

Within the curtained window his cherished offspring 

twain, 
Their eager, hopeful faces close pressed against the 

pane. 
Peer out into the darkness, their swelling hearts abeat 
With keen anticipation, each anxious first to greet 
The music of his foot-fall — At once he's at the door, 
And joyful cries are ringing, while kisses by the score 
His bearded face o'ershower as he enclasps their 

forms 
And lifts them to his bosom with strong but gentle 



She, shunning demonstration, which oft proclaims 

deceit, 
Her eyes like melting jewels, gives welcome true and 

sweet, 



56 SWORD AND CROSS 

Takes down the clinging children, his wrappings lays 

aside, 
Then modestly precedes him, with pardonable pride, 
To where his comforts wait him — beguiles him of his 

trip — 
Removes the laid-ofif garments, sets by the "battered 

grip," 
Till ere he scarce perceives it, so deft and dextrous 

she, 
He's slippered, gowned and seated, a child upon each 

knee. 



With merry word she leaves them, by household duties 
pressed; 

The curly heads confidingly are pillowed on his breast; 
Their silken tresses stroking, transfigured in the grate, 
He sees his darlings growing to man and maid's 

estate ; 
The mystic veil is lifted that hides the future years, 
And on his pensive vision a fair To Be appears. 
Swift up the Mount of Progress advancing they are 

seen. 
And white-browed Honor leads them and Virtue walks 

between. 



About the table gathered, each lowly bows the head, 
While humbly and devoutly the homely grace is said; 
No long-drawn invocation to tire the Throne of Grace, 
Nor abject self-abasement with pride writ on its face; 
But praise and service tendered for life and health 
preserved; 



THE TRAVELER'S NIGHT AT HOME 57 

This plain thanksgiving over, the waiting meal is 

served; 
No feast, however costly, by lords and ladies shared, 
E'er gave more grateful pleasure than this by love pre- 
pared. 

The little heads are nodding, the bright eyes strive in 

vain 
To look "I am not sleepy" yet close and close again, 
Till sweet goodnights are given and mamma leads 

away. 
But drifting down the stillness, he hears his Robbie 

say, 
"Forever and Forever," then halt before amen — 
"Dear Jesus don't let papa go away from us again." 
His face is calm and tranquil again she has appeared, 
But she can note the diamonds that glisten in his 

beard. 



Their eyes have sudden meeting, no need for further 

speech. 
She nestles close beside him, each takes the hand of 

each. 
Against his rugged shoulder, she lays her golden 

tresses. 
And they are lost in dreaming of timid, first caresses. 
When she, a bashful maiden and he, an awkward 

youth — 

She glances shyly upward, both catch the pleasant 
truth 



58 SWORD AND CROSS 

And laugh in pleasant chorus — but still the faint per- 
fume 
Of dewy summer evening seems floating through the 



God's blessing on the fireside, whatever lot surrounds, 
That to the holy music of wedlock still resounds! 
Where confidence unbounded and love communion 

hold, 
Where children's voices mingle; — let misers hoard 

their goPd, 
Ambitious statesmen wrangle; within this hallowed 

light 
Dissension never wanders and greed can never blight. 
Oh! picture all the raptures beneath yon starry dome, 
The holiest are clustered around the Night at Home. 



JUST OVER THE HILL 59 



JUST OVER THE HILL 

Just over the hill is the river of Peace 

In the valley of Sweet Content, 
Where sins will perish and joys increase 

Till the whole vast firmament 
Is white as the bosom of lily-bells, 

With the Christ-pure thoughts that rise 
To the guardian soul of the world, who dwells 

In the garden of Paradise. 

The world will be singing with softest tone 

In the love-land yet to be; 
And flowers will bloom from the seeds once sown, 

In the beautiful Galilee. 
'Twas the brook that told me this hopeful tale, 

And the wind with a voice of cheer 
Cried; Patience, for there is no echoing wail 

Of the sorrows that haunt you here! 

The skies will be brighter in time to come. 

The feet will have smoother way, 
And follow a mellower fife and drum 

Straight into the Christ-made day. 
I hear these words at the noon of night, 

When the clock and my heart are one, 
And the wearisome burdens grow strangely light 

Ere the birth of the new-day sun. 



60 SWORD AND CROSS 

Then I welcome the troubles that erst depressed, 

And cheerfully toil in my place, 
For I know the sunbeams at birth caressed 

The hail that beats in my face. 
I know that oppression is only a cloud 
Which faith may banish at will. 
And the straight shall be those whom today has 
bowed 
In the valley just over <^he hill. 



WHEN LOVE IS QUEEN 61 



WHEN LOVE IS QUEEN 

Upon a cliff above the sea 

That wooes the shore unceasingly 

Love wanders to and fro. 

A crown of light her brow adorns, 

But on her breast a cross of thorns, 

The while in accents low and sweet 

She chants: When eve and morning meet, 

When earth and sea and sky are one. 

As free as sunbeams to the sun, 

As free as winds that kiss the trees. 

To all the worlds and stars of these 

My own shall come and go. 
When love is queen — not love that blinds. 
But constant love that seeks and finds 
To keep till all the years are white 
As lily Hps that kiss the night — 
Then hearts will woo as roses woo, 
And souls will love as lilies do. 
In that bright, glad, eternal day 
When man nor world can say her nay. 



82 SWORD AND CROSS 



FIRST OF THE SEASON 

Winds er gettin' sort o' snappy, 

Clouds er mixin' brown an' gray, 
Kind o' signs et makes me happy — 

I'm a-waitin' fur th' day 
When there'll be a soun' like sighin' 

In the trees about the town — 
Fun ov all kinds will be flyin', 

When the snow is comin' down. 

Mandy says her time o' year is 

Buddin', leafin', growin' spring, 
When in every sound you hear is 

Somethin' sweet an' promising — 
She's a girl and girls are silly, 

Spec'ly when there's boys aroun' — 
Give me winter, sled, an' Billy, 

An' the snow a-coming' down. 

Mother's fond o' June and roses, 

Says they're company fur her. 
Talks to all the plants and poisies — 

Wonder what she does it fur. 
Don't I like 'em — well, I may sir, 

Jes coz mother does — Ge ho! 
Whoop, go long! This is my day, sir. 

Jemenetty, see her snow! 



AMBER 63 



AMBER 



A strength sublime, a soul so rare 

She moved alone; 
So have I seen a lily flare. 

Above its zone, — 
A tiger lily, bravely bent 

Against the wind; 
Its colors all from heaven lent, 

Superb, refined 
By natures alchemy of tears, 

Rebuffs and shocks; 
Free as the sun of doubts and fears. 

It patient rocks 
Above the croaking multitude 

That gnaw below; 
Amidst a throng in solitude, 

Yet all aglow 
With warmth and color — 

Helpful sign 
Still unto me, 

I see the tiger lily shine 
And it is thee. 



64 SWORD AND CROSS 



SANTA CLAUS 

You'd teach my little Jamie that there ain't no Santa 

Claus? 
Don't doubt it, Parson Bradford. We must stare, and 

doubt, and pause. 
While stars in grand procession chant continuous to 

the Lord, 
While Ocean feeds the marshes in obedience to his 

word! 
But tides and stars are nothing more, in God's eternal 

plan. 
Than Santa Claus of Christmas to that chubby little 

man. 
Far better strike the beauty from the Spring for you 

and me 
Than kill the ancient Spirit of the children's Christ- 
mas tree. 

You've studied Taine and Tyndall, Kant and Darwin, 

I'll allow; 
I'm satisfied to follow just the Bible and the plow; 
To sow and garner; learn the ways of insect, bird, and 

beast. 
To love the robin's treble when the dawn comes up 

the East, 
A song as sweet and soulful as the dear old-fashioned 

rhymes 



SANTA CLAUS 65 

That mother sings at evening. You forget the glowing 

times 
When we hung our home-knit stockings, with a faith 

that naught could shake, 
In the wide, smoke-painted chimney; when we lay for 

hours awakcj 
Hoping still to hear the footfall of the reindeer in the 

fnow! 
Do you think I'd rob my Jamie of the joys I used to 

know? 

There's one thing greater, Parson, than a scientific 
truth, 

'Tis to keep the old heart gentle with the memories of 
youth. 

Love is God, and shines eternal, making rainbows in 
our tears; 

Day to Night is elder brother through the stately step- 
ping years; 

You would crush the faith that triumphs in the awful 
strife with death; 

You would banish Burns and Shakespeare and the 
Man of Nazareth. 

You're a parson, I'm a toiler, but, by all the sacred 
past, 

I will beat the plowshare narrow for the curs't icono- 
clast. 



66 SWORD AND CROSS 



FARMER BUNNER 

Farmer Bunner, big and homely, 
Rich in land but poor in speech; 

Kittie Brown, petite and comely, 
Pretty as a blushing peach, 

Said by all her friends to be 

Worthy mate of high degree. 

Not that she was so aspiring; 

Beauty didn't make her proud, 
Rather bashful and retiring; 

Still the neighborhood allowed 
That the man for Kittie Brown 
Was some cavalier from town. 

Then it was the homely Bunner 
Seemed to fill her modest eye, 

Seeing which he wooed and won her- 
Now the other maidens cry 

To their mother's, nodding grim, 

"She wa'nt good enough for him!" 



BLESSINGS THAT COME UNAWARES 67 



BLESSINGS THAT COME UNAWARES 

We thank Thee, O Father of Mercy, 
For the blessings that come unawares, 

Well knowing what's won by pursuing 
But adds to the sum of our cares. 

From morning to morning we labor, 
The task we would do is not done. 

And the things that seem great in the distance 
Are nothing when once they are won. 

No one thing is worthy of worship. 
And all things when clasped in the hand 

Are naught but the signs of the music; 
The symphony only is grand. 

The manna that falls in the desert, 

The dry, dusty desert of strife. 
Is' sweeter than fruit to whose growing 

We've given the years of our life. 

The bud that escapes us while searching 
The bush for its promise so sweet 

Goes straight to the heart with its blooming, 
And the instant is all but complete. 



68 SWORD AND CROSS 

In vain through the volumes of wisdom 
We seek for the blissful, and lo! 

The soft lisping accents of childhood 
Set all of God's kingdom aglow. 

The joy is in building the temple, 
The substance is less than the dream, 

And the song that we sing but the echo 
Of the perfect one heard in the stream. 

Those things that are won by pursuing 
But add to the sum of our cares; 

We thank Thee, O Father of Mercy, 
For the blessings that come unawares. 



THE TRUE AMERICAN 69 



THE TRUE AMERICAN 

America! Inspiring theme! 

Immortal goddess crowned 
With jewels brought from every stream 

To shine the world around. 

'Gainst foreign foe thy sturdy sons 

Have never known defeat; 
And North and South, behold their guns 

Stacked at the Nation's feet! 

Thy eldest, born at Bunker Hill, 

With flowing locks of gray 
Stood stern beside the youth of will 

At Santiago bay. 

"Fourth of July!" out o'er the main 

The Union liners roared, 
"For liberty make way!" again 

The song to heaven soared. 

Swift onward to the farthest shore 

The grateful message ran, 
While all the world bowed low before ■ 

The true American. 



70 SWORD AND CROSS 

"I fight to free my brother brave," 
Said Washington, "And I, 

To free my brother who is slave," 
Was Lincoln's loftier cry. 



But loftier still from Cuban coast 
The blessed challenge rose: 

"We fight that strangers may be free, 
All tyrants are our foes!" 



And onward still to every clime. 

Where'er a river runs 
That oars may sweep in martial time, 

Shall go our men and guns, 

While over them shall break and float 

The banner of the free, 
Till all the sons of earth shall vote 

It full supremacy. 



Then shall the heaven-born symbol hold 

No hint of tear or sigh, 
But only God's great promise told 

To man from Sinai. 



GETHSEMENEA 71 



GETHSEMENEA 

Like fog-bound ships we blindly grope 

An unknown way. But God is good, 
And multiplies the lamps of hope, 

And knits the strands of brotherhood. 
•Behold across the darkened wave, 

Gethsemenea's enduring ray! 
And men are manning boats to save, 

Who were adrift but yesterday. 



72 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE UNIVERSAL UNION 

Join the union? Won't accept me; I'm a capit'list, you 

see. 
Hear that voice? That's mother singing. See this 

youngster on my knee? 
Half a dozen others romping just outside there in the 

snow; 
"I'm a Croesus — shut the door, you — what's the trouble, 

Jack? Hello! 
Broke a runner? Bess, the tweezers — good as new, eh? 

Price? a kiss. 
Coasting sir's a healthy pleasure, one that older people 

miss. 
Union? Yes, I favor unions, but the one I advocate 
Must establish helpful kindness and abolish hurtful 

hate. 

Rented? No, the place is mine, sir. House and little 

patch o' ground, 
That the children work in summer — fruit is sweeter, I 

have found, 
When the trees and vines that bear it are the product 

of our care, 
And the flowers the wife has tended are a hundred 

times more fair 
For the gentle touch o' fingers guided by a heart that 

loves 'em, 



THE UNIVERSAL UNION 73 

And their colors are the richer for the face that's bent 

above 'em. 
I'm in favor of the union, but I'm very free to state 
That the union of the fireside is the one I advocate. 

If my neighbor has a carriage he must keep a coach- 
man, too. 
And they're often lots- of trouble. What we are, not 

what we do, 
Makes us rich; the simple toiler, loved and loving wife 

and child, 
Is among the richest living. What is golden treasure 

piled 
In the vaults of all the nations when you stand beside 

the bed 
Of the darling you have worshiped and they tell you 

"She is dead?" 
There are bonds that reach to heaven, and this bit of 

silken hair 
Kept between the Bible covers forms a union here and 

there. 



Troubles come to everybody; strength in numbers, I'll 

agree ; 
But the union of the babies and the wife's enough for 

me. 
We'll continue on together, keeping this one point in 

view: 
"What I wish" is not the question, but "What can I do 

for you?" 



74 SWORD AND CROSS 

Were this humble cot a palace and this meager bit of 

ground 
Wide as all the state o' Texas, 'twould be only farther 

round; 
Drawing near to helpful kindness, keeping far from 

hurtful hate^ 
Holding fast to those that love you, make the creed I 

advocate. 



THE RIVER OF LOVE 75 



THE RIVER OF LOVE 



If Faith and Hope and Charity wait 
The word of the Master to open the gate 
That the river of love may flow — 
Dear Lord, let the word be said, 
That the River of Love may thread 

And leap and tumble 

Where homes are humble, 

May plead and chide 

By the hall of pride. 
And croon and droon where the weary keep 
Wide-eyed and wan and know not sleep — 

Ere the waiting die, 

And the halting cry 

"Too late! too late! 

We knock at the gate 

Without reply!" — 

O Thou Most High,— 
The brown wood kneels by the sin-dry bed 
Of the River of Love! Let the word be said. 



Then the Master signaled the Sisters Three, 
Who were holding the love-gate fast, 

And they slipped the bar and they turned the 
key, 
And the River of Love rolled past — 



76 SWORD AND CROSS 

Rolled on to freshen the withered wood, 
Rolled on to nourish the kind and good, 

Which the angels sang to see. 
O the sands leaped up to the river's swell, 
The great rocks trembled — the sin-walls fell, 
And devils went wailing about in hell 

Because that the good should be. 
And the Sisters Three, by the gate above, 
Cast flowers to drift on the River of Love. 



AUERBACH'S BABY 77 



' AUERBACH'S BABY 

You haf not seen him? Ach, mein herr, 
Besser you lose you zwanzig year 
Your life oud aber miss dot dear, 
Das kleine kind, my baby. 

Vhen vitsles blow by efening time 
Und I fon vork come kvick zu heim, 
Eef you could see him creep to climb 
My knees oup — dot schmall baby! 

His fingers auf mine eye he stdicks, 
He rumps mine hair und crows und kicks, 
Und plays a hundred funny dricks 
Like dot, my leedle baby. 

On kaltes night bout dhree o'clock 
He dries to vake oudt half dher block, 
Und I must valk und valk und valk 
Mit dot schmall rascal baby. 

I sing him auf dot lulaby 
Undill my dhroad vas cracking dhry, 
Und coax him dot he close his eye 
Und go to sleep, my baby. 



78 SWORD AND CROSS 

Dhen roundt my neck he makes his arm, 
So schubby, dimpled, soft und varm — 
O, may dhere neflfer come some harm 
To dot schmall, leedle baby! 



SPRING 79 



SPRING 

The south wind caught two sunbeams 

'Mong orange blooms at play, 
And over mountains bore them 

To where the snowdrifts lay. 
In soft, warm arms it bore them 

To far off Northern land 
Where brooks were bound in fetters 

Wrought by the ice king's hand, 
Till by an ancient maple 

The south wind set them free, 
And the sunbeams smiled 
Where the snow was piled. 

And danced in the leafless tree. 

The snow drift moved and melted. 

The brook its shackles cast, 
And through the ancient maple 

The sap ran free and fast; 
The cold earth stirred and murmured, 

A violet brave looked up. 
And the sunbeams came from the branches 

And hid in its purple cup. 



80 SWORD AND CROSS 



A POEM 

Of God-like wisdom a tuneful sage 
Wrote Life's full song on a single page; 
It was good to hear — 
It swung in the ear, 

It rung in the soul 
Till the days were thrilled, 
Till the years were filled 

With its measured roll. 

All seasons marched in the swelling lines; 
It sobbed as the wind in the needled pines, 
It held the motion of meadow grass 
When troops of the dimpled fairies pass 
And the rhythmic beat of the rose that creeps 
To the moonlit room where my lady sleeps. 
'Twas a grand, sweet song and a Soul of Light 
Came out of the sky on an Autumn night 
To bear it away to that world afar 
Where Truth holds court in a flaming star. 
"It is good" said Truth, "but the song I crave 
Will never be written I fear, O slave!" 
Again he searched through the earth below, 
And brought her a flake of the new-born snow, 
Then Truth devoutly bowed low her head, 
"You have found a poem at last," she said. 



E-O-EAVE 81 



E-O-EAVE 

Ever notice et a raisin' 

When the pikes are in the bent 
Et the man who grunts the loudest 

Alus is, by accident, 
On the eend that lags 'n lingers. 

But at soun' uv dinner-horn 
Ez the spryes' 'n the quickes' 

Man et ever could be born. 

Larn a heap frum bees 'n raisin's 

Ef ye never seed a book, 
"E-O-Eave" won't lift a scantlin' 

But it hustles up the cook. 
Watch the man et keeps a liftin', 

Still ov lip an' set ov chin, 
An' you'll see him on the ridge-pole 

When it's time t' drive the pin. 



82 SWORD AND CROSS 



WAITING 

Still in a cove my pinnace lies 

With ready oar; 
Above it smiles propitious skies, 

Afar before 
The quick-winged swallows dip and rise 

And dart and soar. 
Inviting action, yet I wait, 
Nor care to venture my estate. 

Out to the rythmic, rocking sea 

My bark will float, 
When one grand song that lives in mc. 

Unformed, remote, 
Shall stir the land to ecstasy 

By its full note — 
Shall thrill the sands to sing again 
And challenge Ocean — not till then. 



A SEASON OF PEACE 83 



A SEASON OF PEACE 

March trumpets and the violet 

Springs up to cheer the wood; 
E'en so' when storms of Winter fret, 
Does Christmas bloom lest we forget 
The joy of doing good. 

Sweet day, when every bosom thrills 

With such a joy as stirr'd 
The Wise Men when, above the hills, 
They saw the Star whose glory fills 

And beautifies the Word. 

Now soldiers leave the field of strife. 

And battle flags are furled, 
While in the marts where trade was rife 
There moves a mercy-loving life, 

A charitable world. 

Sweet favors bloom in all that's said, 

No selfish acts oppress, 
But joys return we've counted dead — 
He maketh smooth the path we tread 

With special tenderness. 

O bells of golden gladness, ring! 

The strearh of plenty flows. 
The world hath gifts to surfeiting, 
Today our brother Christ is King 

And rules the hearts He knows. 



84 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE BLACKBIRD 

There's a tuneful blackbird sitting in a balmy mountain 

pine, 
And his shadow to my window by the orient sun is 

cast, 
Where it dances on the curtain in an ever-changing 

line. 
While the musical magician summons visions of the 

past. 
Oh, the days when I was happy and as innocent as he 
Who thrills me with his "tonkle, tinkle, tonkle, pip, 

g-e-e!" 

Out upon you, masquerading in a sober, priestly coat 
While you're gay as any lover when his Jean is 
passing kind! 

And you spill such wealth of gladness from your palpi- 
tating throat 
That I feel its blissful pulsing in the channels of the 
wind, 

While the cares of life are drifting farther, farther out 
to sea — 

'Tis the king of all magicians calling to me from the 
tree. 

Now the lady-slippers tangle with the honeysuckle 
vines 
Where the brook above the pebbles sings the tune- 
fulest of tunes; 



THE BLACKBIRD 85 

Now the redbud's in its glory and the pollard willow 
shines, 
And the piping plovers gather on the damp and bar- 
ren dunes; 

For the days of love and laughter, love and laughter 
sweet and free^ 

Come again to cheer the lonely with the blackbird in 
the tree. 



86 SWORD AND CROSS 



NO DEATH FOR HEROES 

The firemen who were victims of the cold-storage fire, in 
the World's Fair grounds, were buried in one grave, and the 
floral offerings placed on the mound in memory of their dar- 
ing entirely hid the mounds from view. 

Christ lives. His gentle spirit 

O'erleaps the snares of vice 
To sow life's tangled pathways 

With seeds of sacrifice. 

And streams of mercy follow 
Where'er those feet have trod, 

Till every sob of sorrow 
Breaks at the feet of God. 

Where sand-dunes drank the lifeblood 

Of Christian's far advance, 
Behold a perfect city 

Mock tomahawk and lance. 

And peristyle and palace 

And emerald-banked lagoon 
Show in the sunless midnight ' 

As brightly as at noon. 

There heaps a world its treasure* 

The best from everywhere — 
The city sacrificial, 

Mankind's white altar-stair. 



NO DEATH FOR HEROES 87 

An altar-stair of wisdom 

Where nations mount apace 
To merciful communion 

And brotherhood of race. 

O wonderful dream city 

To wither in a breath! 
But no, these souls heroic 

For thee go down to death. 

So from some sudden impulse 
Springs every thought of worth. 

So in some heartfelt action 
World-wonders all have birth. 

The poorest flower that nestles 

In yonder wreath of fame 
Found life 'midst battling forces 

And bloomed — a child of flame. 

4 

Thus names the world holds lightly 

In some great stress of strife 
Wake suddenly to beauty 

And everlasting life. 

There is no death for heroes; 

Their souls move on sublime 
To set the lamp of progress 

On shores unknown to time. 



88 SWORD AND CROSS 

Behold! These lowly houses 
We deck with bloom today 
Are empty all — Christ Jesus 
• Hath rolled the stone away. 



And far beyond our knowing, 
Where creeds will not suffice, 

They march among the honored, 
God's own through sacrifice. 



PLEA FOR THE FLOWERS 89 



PLEA FOR THE FLOWERS. 

Shall all these flow'rs be sacrificed 

On Decoration day? 
The lily was far more to Christ 

Than Solomon's array; 
Our nation's dead, where'er they tread, 

Must cry: "Let live the rose; 
Let live the pansy in its bed; 
Slay not — there is no hero dead — 

Slay not a flow'r that grows!" 

Give songs that ripple over words 

Like brooks o'er pebbled sands. 
As glad as are the hymns of birds 

In sunny southern lands. 
Give thoughts that thrill, but do not kill, 

Give lessons broad and grand. 
Hug to thy bosom "Peace be still" — 
Strip not the fragrant wood and hill 

With desecrating hand. 

Heap all these graves of precious mold 

With deeds of love and cheer; 
And make the day a thread of gold 

To mark the graying year. 
Be thy soul's food a comrade's good, 

Thy strife to banish pain; 
The day is hardly understood — 
No violet in yonder wood 

Should mourn her children slain. 



90 SWORD AND CROSS 



PRAYER FOR KIPLING WHEN HE LAY AT 
THE POINT OF DEATH 

"The road to Mandalay" is drenched 

With tears we cannot stay; 
With "Gunga Din" we pray to win 

Respite for him today. 

At last "there's neither east nor west," 

The world is clasping hands 
In silent prayer for him, the great 

Exemplar of all lands. 

Take up the brave man's burden, Lord! 

Let pass this bitter cup; 
"He trod the ling like buck in spring," 

Hold Thou his spirit up! 

The tinkling of the tambourine, 

The bugle's lilting notes, 
The roar of guns, the beat of steam, 

Are tugging in our throats. 

The onward march of purpose high. 

The sail of gracious power. 
The surging, swelling, lifting song. 

Come back to fill the hour. 

And trumpet-tongued they plead with Thee 

To stay the awful blow. 
At last "there's neither East nor West." 

And he hath made it so. 



THANKSGIVING AT THE HOMESTEAD 91 



THANKSGIVING AT THE HOMESTEAD 

Frost has crimsoned all the leaves, 
But the barn is rich in sheaves, 
Ricks of clover scent the air, 
Fruits await the housewife's care, 
Haws are black above the rills, 
Kine are sleek upon the hills, 
And along the orchard wall 
Pipes the quail his cheerful call. 

Fast beside the glowing grate 
(Locks as white as ocean foam!) 
Now the aged couple wait 
For "the children" coming home — 
Children who from far and near 
At Thanksgiving gather here; 
Children bowed with toil and care, 
Girls with silver in their hair, 
Boys with beards like harvest grain. 
All "the children" come again, 
Mingling golden locks with gray 
On this peaceful, prayerful day. 

Here the oaken table waits, 

Set with two long rows of plates 

That no Curlyhead may pout 

Lest the grown folks crowd him out. 

Even roving, wayward Tim 



92 SWORD AND CROSS 

Finds a place reserved for him, 
And ere grandpa's prayer is done 
Vows a better course to run. 
Banished every doubt and fear 
From this hopeful atmosphere. 



Blest the visions that arise! 
Grandpa looks in grandma's eyes. 
Griefs that furrowed cheek and brow, 
Tears and sighs forgotten nov^^. 
Only sunshine floods the way 
Looking backward from today. 



"Thou who rulest everywhere, 
Be our children still Thy care, 
On the sea or on the land 
Keep them ever in Thy hand, 
Guiding still in rain or sun, 
May Thy love still make us one 
And its sweetness ne'er depart 
From the homestead of the heart." 



This the father's earnest prayer, 
And "the children" gathered there 
Feel renewed the hopes of youth 
Flame again with love of truth, 
And new armored for the fray 
Bless again Thanksgiving day. 



THE SOUL OF OLD GLORY 93 



THE SOUL OF OLD GLORY 

With drum and fife and bristling blade 
The columned lines, in steady tread, 

Sweep broadly down the streets of trade, 
Old glory flying overhead, 
And not a man to freedom bred 

But draws a fuller, deeper breath, 

To see our glorious shibboleth. 

O'er desert sands, far out at sea. 
Where icebergs lift, by dusky isles, 

Yon starry emblem of the free 
Above the babel-haunted smiles, 
And, spite of kings' or courtiers' wiles. 

The meek leap up to rule as when 

The Savior called — and slaves are men. 



Not all the darkness of the world 
Can hide your light, oh, stars that shine 

From folds that never will be furled 
While beauty loves a swelling line; 
Thou art Jehovah's latest sign 

Set in the atmosphere of earth, 

Assuring final power to worth. 



94 SWORD AND CROSS 



MY ROBBIE 



I know the sun is shining, but alas! I cannot see! 
I know the birds are singing in every bush and tree, 
But there's neither Hght nor music in the world for 
me — 
My Robbie fell in front at Santiago. 

They say the starving Cubans at last are being fed, 
They say the haughty Spaniards before our forces fled, 
And that our country's glory to the farthest land has 
spread, 
But Robbie fell in front at Santiago. 

O Queen of cruel subjects! O Queen of cruel smiles! 
What are your ships and treasure, your sunny South- 
ern isles? 
Take them back and give his mother, from the dark 
defiles, 
Her boy who fell in front at Santiago. 



UNDER THE CYPRESS 95 



UNDER THE CYPRESS 

Beside the river dark and deep — 
The curls a-cluster round her face — 
She lieth, as from Pleasure's chase 

O'erwearied, sunk to sudden sleep. 

The somber cypress bows above, 
Wherein the gentle Zephyr seem 
To chant, accordant with the stream, 

A requiem o'er the death of Love. 

The waters creep so carefully 
Among the shells and pebbled sands. 
And steal to touch her waxen hand^ — 

Dear hands are clasped so prayerfully. 

What sweet simplicity of dress — 
Nor is there guile in this pure face, 
But only faith and gentle grace. 

And loving trust and tenderness. 

A barque so frail — O fateful praise! — 

Life's sea should ne'er have ventured o'er, 
But kept its course along the shore, 

In sheltered nooks of quiet bays. 



96 SWORD AND CROSS 

These simple lines tell all we know: 
"O God, forgive the wicked work! 
I may not sleep behind the kirk, 

But lay me where the daisies grow. 



"Where sunbeams in the grasses lurk. 
Where violets are first in bloom, 
I may not lie in hallowed tomb — 

'Tis holy ground behind the kirk." 



What marvel that this calm retreat 
Unwontedly her thought should woo, 
It was the only path she knew 

Led out to solitude complete. 

Sad, staring eyes that seem to wait 
The coming of this closing touch — 
She loved, and, loving overmuch, 

Some hearth, some home is desolate. 



TACITA 97 



TACITA 

The eye that flasheth worldly pride. 
The lip that frameth worldly scorn, 

Are servants to a cruel heart 
That better never had been born. 



Where Peace is queen the soul impels 
A softly radiant, constant beam, 

That falls upon the fretful world 

Like moonlight on a turbid stream. 



Tacita, bend thy gaze on me, 
Unveil those almond orbs of thine. 

And let the moonlight of thy soul 
Into my troubled bosom shine. 

Then, though the night of Care surround, 
Inspired by thee, my voice I'll rear 

And wake the silence to a sofig 
The vagrant winds shall hush to hear. 



98 SWORD AND CROSS 



MISMATED 

"Good-night," I cried; they tossed me back good- 
byes. 

(What is a year? A dead leaf in a flame), 
So quickly back and forth Time's shuttle flies, 

'Tis gone ere we have thought the word to frame. 

I see them now close standing side by side — 
He tall and strong, with eyes of Saxon blue; 

She lithe and slender, dark and dreamy-eyed, 
A blushing rosebud freshed with morning dew. 

She clinging as the climbing rosebush clings; 

He like an oak that braves the wintry blast; 
She warm and pulsing as the thrush that sings; 

He calm and cold — a Viking of the past. 

O heartless love, to bind the northern pine 
And southland rose within your magic link; 

The mountain torrent and the lowland wine. 
The crag-bred eagle and the bobolink. 

The year is past.' I come again tonight, 
Impatient-footed. Not a welcome breath; 

The tropic's fervor loosed the snowy height 
That, avalanching, bore them both to death. 



LOVE'S TELLING 99 



LOVE'S TELLING 

I love thee. The blood of my being 

Seems all to be flooding my heart; , 
As the poor, hunted hare in the hedge-row. 

At the sound of each accent I start — 
Start forth but to shrink from the sunlight, 

And creep back again to the shade. 
Afraid of the stir in the grasses 

My own timid movements have made. 

O tongue, a most eloquent pleader 

Art thou when I muse on her name! 
Drawn near her: my thoughts are as ashes 

Of words consumed in love's flame. 
Alone, sweetest phrases and glowing 

Are born of my being's desire. 
With her, I have nothing but silence — 

The heart in my bosom on fire. 

rose, for thy passionate language! 

brook, for they musical tones! 

My heart is o'erburdened with love-words, 
For speech I have nothing but moans. 

1 will cast of? the spell that enchains me — 
All the wealth of my passion I'll pour 

At her feet — O, I love thee! I love thee! 

1 love thee! Ah can I say more? 



100 SWORD AND CROSS 



VICTOR HUGO 

O Master of the earth's divine, 

Thy genius flushed our sky so bright 
That countless souls yet strong in thine 

Press upward toward the purer light; 
Stern-featured, thou wert quick as Christ 

To weep for griefs by others borne, 
And, ever from thyself enticed, 

Mourned that the world had cause to mourn. 

Two million feet with solemn tread 

Beat out thy dirge in funeral train, 
But twice ten million hearts, O dead 

Yet living Hugo, join the strain; 
So long as right to might must kneel, 

Or while there lives one fettered slave. 
Or slaves go free, or freedmen feel — 

So long shall tears bedew thy grave. 



THE PANSY 101 



THE PANSY 

Three flowers in my garden grew; 

A lily, pansy, and a rose. 
I questioned Psyche: "Tell me true, 

Which is most beautiful of those?" 



The lily, hearing, reared its head. 

"Behold the charm of grace," it cried. 
"Voluptuous beauty here is bred," 

The blushing rose as quick replied. 



The pansy, drooping on its stem, 
Concealed its face with modest start 

"Alas!" I said, "pride ruins them" — 
I wear the pansy in my heart. 



102 SWORD AND CROSS 



WHEN BESSIE COMES DOWN TO THE 
SPRING 

The daisies nod merrily one to the other, 

The marigolds cling to the hem of her gown, 
The chickens desert their excitable mother, 

To clamor for favors, when Bessie comes down 
With her pail to the spring. Oh, red and white roses, 

Not fairer are they, all a-bloom in the grass. 
Than the bloom of her cheek — see how graceful she 
poses, 

To watch the cloud shadows that lazily pass; 
And birds linger, praiseful, on fluttering wing, 
When hazel-eyed Bessie comes down to the spring. 

The rabbit peeps shyly from under his cover 

Of thick-blossomed lilac adorning the slope, 
To gaze with the eloquent eyes of a lover 

Where Bessie is tripping, like radiant Hope 
From the dream of a poet; her free flowing tresses 

By arrows of sunlight pierced many times through— 
And Brindle comes lowing to meet her caresses; 

The grass showing dark where she scatters the dew — 
While backward and forward complacently swing 
The minnows, when Bessie comes down to the spring. 

Her charms owe no tax to the cold law of fashion, 

She had all her grace from the glorified One; 
And her veins are as free of the latter-day passion 



WHEN BESSIE COMES DOWN 103 

As meadow-stream kissed by the beams of the sun. 
No fairies beguile her — poor waifs of the attic — 

In operas fashioned to mountebank's art, 
But she hears the lark's melody ripple ecstatic 

And full from his throat, whereon lieth his heart; 
While up through the clover with giant-like swing, 
Comes Reuben to welcome sweet Bess at the spring. 



104 SWORD AND CROSS 



LOVE'S ORACLES 

Above the hills the Orient sun 

Peeped through a mist of gold, 
That downward from his ardent gaze 

Into the valley rolled; 
And fleeing Night, with jealous hand, 

Plucked from the changing skies 
Two sister stars, and refuge sought 

Within my lady's eyes. 

That home once gained, she ne'er forsook- 

Why leave a place so fair? 
But set the stars, as lamps of love, 

To light the darkness there. 
Now I, to know how fickle Chance 

Her favors may bestow, 
In faith, consult those heavenly orbs 

That 'neath her eyelids glow. 



SWEET, BEAUTIFUL EYES 105 



SWEET. BEAUTIFUL EYES 

Sweet, beautiful eyes! Soft, beautiful eyes! 

So tenderly, tranquilly, soulfully wise! 

In their fathomless depths such beauty I see 

That I bow the head and I bend the knee 

In humble worship. O, love divine! 

Unselfish aflfection; I see it shine 

In those eloquent orbs. O land! O sea! 

O limitless azure! O star gem'd skies! 
Of all known treasures not one to me 

So dear as the light of my lady's eyes. 



O limpid, liquid, glorious eyes! 

What care I for time, if it stays or flies, 

When my life is lit by those radiant beams? 

The work-a-day world with its sordid schemes, 

It is nothing to me, for I live and move 

In a separate, rhythmical realm of love. 

The creeds of the earth they are nothing to me- 

My altar, cathedral, my heaven is there; 
And I bow the head and I bend the knee 

To worship the eyes of my lady fair. 



106 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE BITTER-SWEET VINE 

She came in the dawn of a sweet May morn, 
Laden with blossom and berry — 

A woman with locks like the ripened corn, 
To a Southern cemetery. 

The mounds swelled round like a summer sea 

Carressed by an in-shore wind; 
Beyond, the stretch of an open lea. 

The shadowy forest behind. 

Down by a grave with a bitter-sweet vine, 

Twining and trailing it over, 
In the soft, rich glow of the morning's wine, 

She knelt in the nodding clover. 

Knelt and bowed till the sad, white face 
Cozened the dew-starred grasses, 

Still as a nun in some holy place 
When the Virgin spirit passes. 

Screened by a vine at the self-same grave 

Was another figure kneeling, 
With hair as white as the ocean's wave 

Before the hurricane reeling. 



THE BITTER-SWEET VINE 107 

Their prayers are done and they rise as one — 

Each starts at sight of the other; 
Said the younger: "This grave is the grave of 
my son." 

The elder: "Nay, I am his mother; 

"I came o'er his ashes to weep and pray." 

The younger: "I tell you true. 
My boy sleeps here, and he wore the gray." 

"Not so, but mine of the blue." 

"There is some mistake," cried the gray-haired 
dame; 

Said she of the yellow braid: 
"You'll find on the marble my dear boy's name, 

You surely have been betrayed." 

They sought for the spot by the vines o'er-grown, 

And, crowding the leaves away, 
Lo! two names carved in the mossy stone — 

The name of the blue and the gray. 

One look they gave, then suddenly turned 

To clasp in a warm embrace — 
The rising sun in its splendor burned, 

And glorified all the place. 

The snow-white locks of the Northern land 
And the warm, rich Southern wave 

In peace are mingled as hand in hand 
They kneel by the dual grave. 



108 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE WATCHER BY THE SEA 

Long years of watching have dimmed her eyes, 

That once were bright as stars i' the sea, 
And over her temples, like snow-drift, lie 
The locks that once were rich as the dye 
Of the purple grape on the tree. 



She dwells in a cottage high o'ercrowned 

By cliffs that shadow the breakers white. 
And Yule-tide, ever it comes around, 
Still finds her waiting with holly bound, 
Repeating with voice of tremulous sound, 
" 'Tis Christmas Eve and the time is past, 
The waiting and weeping are over at last, 
My rovers come home tonight. 



"The bells will ring i' the hour, they said — 

Blow softly what winds may blow — 
I have decked with holly my Robbie's bed, 
That cosily stands in the room o'erhead. 

With its linen as white as snow — 
As white as the snow on the window-sill — 
As white as the snow that is lying still, 
On the still, white graves below. 



THE WATCHER BY THE SEA 109 

"Graves! Only the feeble and old for graves! 

We are strong, we have naught to fear! 
Comes the grand, good ship o'er the dancing waves 
That brings to my bosom my rover braves, 

My mate and my boy so dear. 

"My mate and my red-cheeked Robbie tonight 

Again in my arms shall meet. 
And their thick curls gleam like gold i' the light 
Of the fire that never will burn so bright 

As when they sit at my feet. 

"He is ten years old when the clock strikes three — 

Our Robbie — he's growing old! 
Last April it was that my mate and he — 
Who says they will never come back to me? 

Ah, God, but the world is cold. 

"I've waited so long — they will soon be here — 

Was that a step at the gate? 
Or only the wind in the lilac near — 
The wind that startles my soul with fear, 

The wind I worship — and hate? 

"1 dreamed — when was it? — a dream so dread — 

I saw myself sitting here. 
Awaiting my loves, and there came instead 
Some sailors bringing them in to me dead, 

Both dead on a single bier. 



110 SWORD AND CROSS 

"With the drip, drip, drip of the salt sea brine. 

Drip, drip from their locks of gold; 
In their cold blue eyes there was never a sign- 
My dead mate clasping his boy and mine, 
As dead as himself and cold. 

"A dream, but it chilled the founts of my soul, 
O, warm with their kisses I'll grow; 

The bells are ringing — no, no, they toll! 

Or is it the ocean's monotonous roll? — 
There is naught but a mound in the snow." 

Long years of watching have dimmed her eyes, 

That once were bright as stars i' the sea. 
And over her temples, like snow-drift, lie 
The locks that once were rich as the dye 
Of the purple grape in the tree. 



DISCOVERY 111 



DISCOVERY 

The jewel, Wisdom, in the mine of Thought 

Lies bedded deep where toilers sore have wrought, 

Or^ be their search in old veins or in new, 

The miners many, the discov'rers few. 



AMBITION 

Though many covetous be crowned, 
Their honors few with temperance wear; 

The tree that tops the forest round 
Must brave the winds from every where. 



112 SWORD AND CROSS 



HAPPY THE MAN 

Happy the man who in some rural glade 

Contented dwells, nor of its confines tires; 
The rich, sweet soil upturning with his spade 
Where the dark earth, with little toil, is made 
To yield sufficient for his few desires. 

The rush and turmoil of the greedy town, 
Its sin and pride and shame, to him unknown; 

Nor beggar's whine, nor surly Mammon's frown; 

Nor crack-voiced venders crying up and down. 
Nor drunkard's oath, nor ruined Virtue's moan. 

Instead, the morning pulsing full with life, 
O'erflooded with the varied song of birds; 
The pure, fresh air with scent of flowers rife — 
Nor discord here, nor sound of sordid strife; ' 
But eloquence without disturbing words. 

With swelling breast he roams the dewy meads. 
The meanest flow'r his joy and tender care; 

The murm'ring winds that stir the tangled reeds, 

Fit orchestra adapted to the needs 
Of Nature's drama acted for him there. 

Of castle massive often he has read, 

Of mosque, of temple and cathedral grand — 
Yet turns for beauty to the fields instead. 
Finds some new pleasure wheresoe'er he tread, 
In meadow, wood or on the yielding sand. 



HAPPY THE MAN 113 

The cliff abrupt; the river's silver flow; 

The eagle's flight; the tempest-ridden wind; 
The gleaming salmon swinging to and fro 
In quiet pool, the timid, graceful roe — 

All dear companions of his student mind. 

For him the peace of close converse with God. 

To him the door of Nature opens wide; 
The woods, the hills, the daisy-spangled sod. 
He loves them all. Where others blindly trod 

He moves serene — his being satisfied. 



Amid such scenes his gentle life is passed, 

The ward of Wisdom, learning what is best; 
His creed to love, his church the vaulted vast. 
In contemplation richest at the last — 
He falls asleep upon a kindly breast. 



114 SWORD AND CROSS 



REFLECTION 

Where playful lamps serenely skip 

O'er emerald green and blossomed slip, 

A sage, with measured pace, came by 

And marking all with dreamful eye, 

Exclaimed, with tender, thoughtful smile: 

"Poor creatures! but a little while 

The grass will spring, the storm will rage, 

Above the grave of lamb and sage. 

The wise, the great, the reasonless. 

The spangled sod alike shall press; 

Your little hour of life you spend 

In sportful pleasure; we extend 

Our thought from this to other spheres 

To win — a recompense of tears. 

You hope not, doubt not, fear not; I 

Do all by turns and yet must die 

At last as ignorant as thou. 

The studious mind but lines the brow 

And stirs to bitter, fierce unrest 

The flame-tongued forces in the breast. 

All into one great Dark must grope 

With but the flickering lamp of Hope 

To guide them — as the fire-fly's light 

Is to the thunder-clouded night, 

E'en so it shows, now there, now here, 

Now far removed, now blazing near, 



REFLECTION 115 

An ignis fatuus while we stay, 
What proof 'twill better lead the way 
When, shorn of every subtle sense. 
We plunge into the guessed Immense?" 
The sage passed on to cry, "Alas!" 
The lambkins nipped the tender grass. 



116 SWORD AND CROSS 



INDUSTRY 

The toughest wood with brightest blaze will greet: 
The hardest nut contains the sweetest meat; 
So wisdom, gained by light of midnight oil, 
Gives richest recompense for patient toil. 



BETWEEN THE WORLDS 

I stand alone in the wind and rain 

As many another has stood, 
O'er-brave with the light of a better life, 

And the sense of a higher good. 
Yet feeling because of my sins as though 

The fire had gone out of my blood. 
O Soul, thou art sobbing a sorrowful song. 

Like a brook in an Autumn wood! 
When Faith would soar where the angels sing, 
Doubt frowns, and she droops on a nerveless 
wing. 



ON THE BORDER 11' 



ON THE BORDER 

We grew to manhood, Jim and I, 

Just where the border line 
Cut through the homes of low and high 

As lightning cleaves the pine; 
And from the passion-storm that swept 

The land from sea to sea 
Two crafty tiger-spirits crept 

And parted him and me. 

The South he loved was not so much, 

A languorous, dreamy girl, 
And I, ah! well, I bear this crutch 

Because of one bright curl 
That danced above a pair of eyes 

As mild as skies in May — 
I donned the blue for Ann Elize, 

For Jess he took the gray. 

A year went by, while cannons ploughed 

The fields our care had tilled; 
Where seas of golden wheat had bowed 

A Nation's blood was spilled. 
The sentry marched where love had stayed. 

And trampled meadows turned 
Their brooks red-streaked into the glade 

Where hostile camp-fires burned. 



118 SWORD AND CROSS 

The sweep of war had brought our lines 

Quite to the dear old spot. 
And somehow in the whispering pines 

A song but half forgot — 
A something half remembered drew 

Me out alone to roam 
Along the path so well I knew 

Toward my boyhood's home. 

Not mine alone to disregard 
The drums retiring taps — 

Behold! Jim distant scarce a yard- 
When we, two roguish chaps, 

As ever caught the whistling rule 

Upon the shielding book. 
Together held one bench at school, 
He wore the self-same look. 

Two miles away, by marching spent, 

Slept eighty thousand men, 
The brook, a silver ribbon went 

Full softly down the glen, 
And stealing bright through leaf and bough 

The moon lit up the space 
Where we, once friends, sworn foemen now, 

Stood silent, face to face. 

My sword leaped naked to the night — 

Untouched his idly swung 
Upon his thigh, but free and light 

His mellow laughter rung, 



ON THE BORDER 119 

The while he cried, "Put up your steel, 

We'll fight what time we must, 
Where cannons boom and squadrons wheel, 

And madmen bite the dust. 

"But now, as comrade huntsmen come 

O'erwearied from the chase 
Beyond the call of fife and drum, 

In this familiar place — 
We'll sit us down and quiet chat 

Of simple, homelike joys. 
Forgetful of the war and that 

We're anything but boys!" 

I threw my sword upon the ground 

And grasped his profifered hand; 
His voice just then the cheeriest sound 

In all the troubled land; 
Then, stretched along the grassy slope. 

We watched the moon drift on. 
And talked of home and love and hope 

Until the night was gone. 

Next day the opposing forces met 

Midst smoke and roar and din, 
And all the ground with blood was wet 

For Hate to struggle in. 
While men, mere pawns to leaders wise. 

Of death made awful mirth. 
And lids fell down o'er flashing eyes 

To lift no more on earth. 



120 SWORD AND CROSS 

In charging through the dear old farm 
We met, friend Jim and I — 

My saber shore him of an arm, 
His bayonet pierced my thigh. 

Then all night long beneath the stars, 
We lay and moaned with pain — 

If great men knew the cost of wars 
Would there be war again? 



I have no heart to sing of strife; 

Each deed of valor done 
Costs some brave fellow limb or life 

Or e'er the prize be won. 
It likes me more in peace to dwell 

Among my fowl and kine. 
Where Love, a sleepless sentinel, 

Keeps ward for me and mine. 



And yet, while Ann Elize and Bill 

And Bess and little Sue 
Are over yonder on the hill 

To drop a rose or two, 
'Tis good to know that Jim and Jess, 

Down there in Tennessee, 
Are tossing bloom of tenderness 

On those who fought with me. 



TWILIGHT IN A CHURCH -YARD 121 



TWILIGHT IN A CHURCH-YARD 

Kneeling here beside thee, darling, while the twilight 
softly steals 

Like a nun, gray-veiled and quiet, from the cloister- 
wood, and wheels 

Through the heavens grand Orion — kneeling here at 
eve alone. 

Where the rose-bush clings and trembles round your 
crumbling burial-stone; 

Though my ears be dulled with hearing through long 
years the din of life. 

I can hear your voice as plainly as when first you mur- 
mured "Wife," — 

Hear your voice as full and tender as the ringdove's 
plaintive call 

O'er the new-reaped clover meadow in the days of early 
Fall. 



O that life, so full of richness, bright as June beneath 

the sky 
Of the semi-tropics; heart-beats short the days flew 

by;- 
How the robin's pulsing treble seemed to voice the 

love that swept 
Through my being; closer, closer in your shielding 

arms I crept; 



122 SWORD AND CROSS 

Wishing nothing, fearing nothing, living only in the 

beam 
Of your dear eyes bent above me. Let the nighthawk 

swoop and scream- 
What have I to fear! The blackness of the darkness? 

Here I bide. 
It is his dear voice that calls me, and I know he never 

died. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 123 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

Ring out, ring out, ye choral bells, 

A paean to the morn; 
Your speech in cadet measure tells 

Of blessing^ newly born; 
But be your tones as pure and clear 

As cloistered maiden's prayer, 
For all of earth is listening here. 

And all of Heaven there. 

Dear Christmas! enemy to fear 

And foe to sable sin, 
Thou art the day of all the year 

For Joy to triumph in. 
The hills are bathed in floods of gold, 

The frowning clouds are furled; 
And cheerful sunlight, fold on fold. 

Enwraps a loving world. 

The skies that bend to meet the sea 

Are softer on this day; 
The winds that stir the holly tree 

Are gentler in their play; 
The crystal flakes that kiss the earth 

Seem purer, whiter far. 
The morning of our Savior's birth, 

Than other snow-flakes are. 



124 SWORD AND CROSS 

Then ring, ye tongues of silver, ring 

Till tremble earth and sky! 
Ye brazen throats, awake and sing 

A world-wide symphony! 
'Neath every roof is white-robed Peace, 

And golden-haired and gray 
Alike from care have full release — 

'Tis merry Christmas Day. 



THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 125 



THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 

There's many a nobleman dwells in a cot, 

The palace holds many a clown. 
And princes have beds of the tamarind bark, 

While beggars have couches of down. 
Brave kings are in cotton, serfs glory in silk, 

While slaves like an emperor show; 
For the worth of a title is stamped on the heart, 

But the world doesn't look at it so. 

Here misers are prodigally flinging their gold 

To spendthrifts, who hoard in their wake; 
There mumbles a rake in the gown of a priest 

To a priest in the garb of a rake; 
Sweet saints there are living in hovels of sin, 

,And sinners in Sanctified Row; 
The heart in the breast is the only true test — 

But the world doesn't look at it so. 

There are generals lying in graves unmarked. 

And privates with monuments grand; 
The ignorant stalk in the chambers of state, 

While Virtue digs bread from the land. 
A shadow divergent each object of earth 

O'ercast from one sun in the sky; 
And fancies are many as beings have birth, 

But the one God ruleth on high. 



126 SWORD AND CROSS 

So I laugh at the title; that's only a sham; 

And at caste — but a silver-washed plate 
Stuck up on the door of a tenement grand 

Belonging to Nature's estate. 
Its inmates are constantly changing and pass 

Each year out of sight, like the snow. 
Whose going makes room for the beautiful bloom- 

And the Savior will look at it so. 



WOMAN 127 



WOMAN 

Shut every door that leads to prosperous life; 
He still hath hope who hath a helpful wife. 
I liken woman to that fragile flow'r 
That bends its head before the gentlest show'r, 
But when the forest by the storm is lain 
Looks brightly up to beautify the plain. 



INNOCENCE 

Scatter bright flowers on the grave of a child; 
He with children was loving and mild, 
Nothing they know of our sinful despair; 
Scatter sweet roses and violets there. 



128 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE AMERICAN FARMER 

Shrill crows the cock. The misty light creeps in 
At windows looking on the eastern sky. 

The cattle low and waking fowls begin 
To raise their voices in discordant cry, 

When Farmer John, with many a lusty yawn, 

Deserts his bed and stalks into the dawn. 

With lib'ral hand he takes from stack and store, 
And, smiling, feeds his trooping flocks and herds, 

Each known by name. The weak he lingers o'er 
With soothing touch and kindly, cheering words. 

From him they learn obedience and trust. 

They teach him that the gentle are the just. 

Compared to his what pleasures may they know 
Who in dull round of cent-per-cent engage? 

About his feet the billowy grasses blow. 

E'en while the thunders o'er the hill-tops rage. 

Here thick-leaved maples grateful shade extend, 

There cowslip blossoms o'er the brooklet bend. 

The sloping uplands clothed in emerald sheen. 
The solemn woods, the fields of velvet corn. 

The clover meadows stretching gay between. 
The lark in carol to the dewy morn — 

These, these are yours with all their clustering charms, 

Steel-sinewed tillers of Our Country's farms. > 



THE AMERICAN FARMER 129 

And here among these rich, sequestered scenes, 
An independent, peaceful path you tread; 

No tainting substance e'er your sky terrenes, 
No marshaled chimneys turn your airs to lead 

Above you bends a blue, unsullied dome; 

The sun unveiled looks smiling on your home. 



130 SWORD AND CROSS 



MEMORIAL MORNING 

"Virginia, open the casement there, 

I hear the sound of a martial band 
In the street below. Let me catch the air. 

The doctor? How; shall / not command? 

"There, child, forgive me; old age is quick 

To anger, in patience a very snail; 
But I'll to the window; life's shriveled wick 

Shall blaze once more ere it utterly fail. 

"Ah! so; the curtain a trifle down. 

Ho! Halt you there where the sunlight plays 
So merrily over your locks of brown — 

They had iust such curls in the dear old days. 

"My sweet twin darlings. It cannot be — 
What's that they are playing? 'The Tender and 
True?' 

You are like your father as like can be, 

And they both come back to me, both in you. 

"They are not forgotten! The Nation halts 
In its greedful rush for an hour or so 

To shrive itself of its baser faults, 
Lest it altogether forgetful grow. 



MEMORIAL MORNING 131 

"Nay, nay, I am querulous; thoughts Hke these 

Dishonor Love's festal, and surely I 
Should honor a custom that strips the trees ' 

For love of the dead who are not to die. 

"For yonder, where Donnelson frowns above 
The Cumberland waters, my darlings rest 

In each other's arms — in the clasp of love, 
Where they fell, my heroes, fell breast to breast. 

"God sits in judgment! To honor bound 
Were both my boys, though they walked apart, 

But they sleep today 'neath a single mound, 
Sleep shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart. 

"As in one low cradle they used to sleep. 

My blush-rose babies. What, tears, my child? 

For the Nation's dead let the Nation weep, 
And kneeling above them be reconciled! 

"If palm leaves whispered their lullaby, 
Or North winds shouted their cradle song, 

What matter? Their duty to do and die; 
Their deeds, not motives, to us belong. 

"What to me, if the flags that my darlings bore 
Were barred and spangled or azure thread, 

If blue or gray were the coats they wore? 
They were all my world and — my world is dead. 



132 SWORD AND CROSS 

"Where mounds are many go scatter your flowers, 
Ye prosperous people; where mounds are few, 

Where the lone loon calls to the lonely hours, 
Where the sensitive aspen-tree scatters the dew. 

"On plain or mountain, by river or wood, 
Wherever a soldier is sleeping today, 

Let fall the blossoms in fragrant flood — 
They are sons of one mother, the Blue and the Gray. 



THANKSGIVING HYMN 133 



THANKSGIVING HYMN 

Spirit of love! Creator! Ruler! Friend! 

From whom we come and unto whom we tend! 

Alh humbly now, Thy presence drawing near, 

We sing Thanksgiving for the fruitful year. 

Thy gracious care in every good is seen! 

Beneath Thine eyes the planets move serene, 

Spring, Summer, Autumn, following in their round, 

With rich abundance rural toil is crowned; 

The seeds that fell along the hillside bare, 

A thousand-fold returned, demand our care; 

With soothing cud the meadows yet supply 

The browsing herd; the clover's rafter high 

Above the stalls — beneath contented feed 

Sleek, fattening steer and glossy-coated steed. 

Devout of heart, we here our thanks renew 

To Thee who gave the sun, the rain and dew. 

Thanks, too, for these! the anvil's hearty ring; 

The merry lathes that labor as they sing; 

The wheezing plane, the saw, the plumb, the rule, 

And every useful, honor-bearing tool 

That may on man one comfort more bestow — 

I'll sing them still and ay my verse shall flow. 

Now double blessings to the generous man 
Who measures Nature by the liberal plan! 
Upright and honest; of forgiving mind. 



134 SWORD AND CROSS 

E'er thoughtful of his less successful kind; 

Prompt in his action; just in his decrees, 

Pleased most to see a fellow-being pleased; 

Ne'er over proud because his ventures float; 

Who judges not his fellow by the coat, 

But cries: "Let's prove the heart that throbs beneath! 

Damascus blade has oft a ragged sheath, 

While swords of lead in gorgeous scabbard shine; 

The dearest metal's from the deepest mine. 

By honeyed accents greatest kingdoms fall; 

The dress is nothing, but the man is all! 

Go! Give thy thanks! Not as the Pharisee, 

But in your closet on an humble knee." 

What comfort should we bring to grieving hearts 
Did we but act as we do know our parts; 
How much regret ourselves, ourselves would spare 
If what we win we might with temperance wear! 
Proud, halting, weak! O God, of all above! 
Still be Thy justice tempered by Thy love. 



WELL DONE 135 



WELL DONE 

For fifty years as man and wife 

They traveled on together; 
Between them not a word of strife 

In fair or cloudy weather. 

Full fifty years thro' sun and storm, 
With cares and griefs a-plenty, 

But fourscore found their love as warm 
And tender as at twenty. 

They learned each other's failings, yet. 
Ne'er halting to compare them. 

Strove still with patience to forget 
Or cheerfully to bear them. 

The loving are the truly wise 
And Wisdom counsels grieving; 

When tears of sorrow dimmed their eyes 
They dried them with believing. 

Strong in that self-respecting pride 

Which only is deserving — 
From Duty never turned aside. 

They kept her path unswerving. 



136 SWORD AND CROSS 

As dual tendrils intertwined 

Will perish being parted, 
E'en so, his day of life declined, 

She followed, broken-hearted. 

One marble marks their resting place, 

And all their story telling, 
"Well done," the simple words that grace 

The stone above their dwelling. 

A vine sprung from the hallowed ground — 
O may it ne'er be blighted! — 

In death unites them mound to mound, 
As love in life united. 

Where swallows through the ether glide, 
Where nods the fragrant clover — 
The waving, scented clover — 

They sleep in quiet side by side 
Their toils and trials over. 



LOVE IS NEVER OLD 137 



LOVE IS NEVER OLD 

Have your footsteps lost the lightness 

That in other days they knew? 
Have your eyes forgot their brightness, 

And your locks their raven hue? 
Ah! the years are many, darling, 

Since we first the story told; 
But 'tis sweet today as ever — 

Love is never old. 



From your cheeks the baby fingers 

Plucked the roses one by one, 
But the precious fragrance lingers 

When the flower itself is gone; 
And those hands, grown strong and sturdy. 

Keep us from the storm and cold, 
Lead us by the peaceful waters — 

Love is never old. 



138 SWORD AND CROSS 



CRITICISM 

"There's something hidden in the book," 
I said; "some meaning, subtle, strange. 
I'll search it out though I should look 
Behind each word, scan every nook 
Within the author's range." 

Her fingers smoothing back my hair 
Were still for just a second, then 
A voice as musical as air 

Replied: "Alas! like other men. 
You crush the dearest buds that grow 

Along the 'broidered walks of life. 
In search of flowers that never blow; 
In search of that which never grew 
Despoil a thousand drops of dew, 
And climb the tree for fruit less sweet 
Than that which tumbles at your feet. 
Because a rosebud pleases one. 
Must he uproot it in the sun 
To find wherein its fragrance lies, 
,Or note the meaning of its dyes? 
Good writers, read by kindred minds, 
Have nothing hidden in their lines;" 
Thus answered me my wife. 



THE APPROACH OF WINTER 139 



THE APPROACH OF WINTER 

The laggard morning tints a ragged East, 
The sun a red and rayless disk appears; 

~ While baffled vapors, fresh from pois'nous feast, 
The uplands moisten with revengeful tears. 

A watchflil crow swings cawing from the wood, 
A lonely mallard flutters from the brake, 

And Nature, clad in somber cloak and hood, 
Stirs languidly as she were loth to wake. 

The leaves that lately shone so fresh and bright, 
Now dry and withered, to the ground are cast; 

Where ever round and round in restless flight 
They're driven by the chill November blast. 

The sumac in the naked hedgerow bleeds, 
Impatiently the blue jay calls his mate; 

A crane stalks ghostly through the swaying reeds, 
And Autumn mourns her kingdom desolate. 



140 SWORD AND CROSS 



RETRIBUTION 

At last you are home from the carnival? I — 
By my faith, 'tis a regal head — 
Have been pondering here, as the hours went by. 
On the fleshless hand and the rayless eye — 
List, madam, our child is dead. 

Is dead, I tell you — asleep, asleep. 

Keep silence and wake her not! 
I watched her going, but did not weep, 
And devils came out of the shade to peep 

At the one bright crimson spot — 

You would see our darling? 'Twill be as well. 

So, lay the jewels aside, 
And all these shimmering robes that tell 
Of the stately measure and cadent swell. 

Of the sinuous sweep and glide 

Of the amorous waltz. Am I harsh? And thou, 
Oh, gentle and loving mind! 
With thy jeweled throat and thy painted brow — 
And have you reason to chide me now 
With cruelty? I unkind! 



It likes me better, this simple dress; 

What a small, small throat, my love! 
Do you shrink from my touches of tenderness? 



RETRIBUTION 141 

Time was you were hungry for each caress, 
And cooed in return like a dove. 

We will go together, and you may weep — 

Your breath — my fingers are steel! 
O'er that silent couch with its snow-white heap 
Of marble beauty in breathless sleep. 

What, Love! you falter and reel! 

So well I loved her, our child, my dear — 

What say you? Believe, you true? 
And she was so pretty I had a fear 
The world might claim her and leave me here 

Alone when she older grew. 

And I rocked her asleep in my shielding arms 

(Did you dance with the count tonight?) 
I rocked her, and whispered: The world's alarms 
Shall never come near you, nor shall your charms 
Grow pale in a lover's sight. 

And I said I would keep her, the bloom on her 
cheeks — 

There, still as thf child you've grown, 
And white as the snow on the mountain peaks, 
Soft by our little one — ha! who speaks? 

I have had my way with my own. 



142 SWORD AND CROSS 



WHEN THE GRIP IS IN THE LOFT 

O the sweet and blissful feelings that possess the drum- 
mer's breast 
When the year's last trip is over and he nears the 

promised rest! 
O the happy fancies rushing — as the children rush from 

school 
When, the tiresome lesson finished, they are freed from 

book and rule! 
Happy fancies crowding, tripping o'er the threshold 

of his heart 
To the playground just before him — how his pulses 

thrill and start 
E'en to think the cares of roaming, for the time at least, 

are doffed 
And the battered grip will linger for a season in the 

loft. 



To be freed from hours of waiting for the long belated 

train 
And the call-boy's piping treble e'er he's scarce an hour 

lain 
Tired head upon the pillow slipping always to the 

floor, 
Quite as if its fragile system couldn't stand a healthful 

snore — 
And the dreamy, dreary calling of the trainman's nasal 

tones, 



WHEN THE GRIP IS IN THE LOFT 143 

With his "All a-b-o-a-r-d-fer-D-a-v-e-n-p-o-r-t, 

O-m-a-h-a an' Fre-m-o-n-e-s!" 
Ah, the drummer's voice is gentle and the drummer's 

heart is soft 
As he tosts the battered gripsack for a season to the 

loft. 



Onward glides the stream of pleasure all unbroken in 

its flow — 
There are days to romp with Nellie and the chubby 

toddler Joe; 
There are long and quiet evenings in the parlor neat 

and trim 
Which his dear, observant Mary's furnished with an 

eye to him; 
Time to tell again the story that is ever new and sweet 
With a pleasant sense of knowing there is one secure 

retreat 
Where the lusty-lunged train-caller, with his grandly 

swelling chest 
Dare not shout "Yer now fer Davenport, O-m-a-h-a 

an' der West" — 
If the drummer isn't married he is certainly betrothed 
And the parlor 's quite as pleasant when the grip is 

in the loft. 



There will come a day my comrades — it is well to note 

it here 
While we're taking stock of conduct with the closing 

of the year — 
When the old familiar places will no more our faces 

see 



144 SWORD AND CROSS 

And there'll be no sweet vacations kept by either you 

or me. 
There will come an end of wand' ring up and down this 

world of sin 
When the Author of all drummers will have called our 

samples in — 
When the lusty-lunged train-caller with his grandly 

swelling chest 
Crying "All a-b-o-a-r-d fer Davenport, O-m-a-h-a, an' 

the West!" 
Won't have power to wake the sleeper he before has 

wakened oft, 
And the battered grip will nevermore be taken from the 

loft. 



EASTER PROMISES 145 



EASTER PROMISES 

"There is no death?" the flowers say 
"In faith we hide our souls away, 
While tempests desolate the earth, 
And patient wait the promised birth." 

The south wind chants, "There is no death, 
I come and winter is a breath: 
Against his falling walls I set 
The snowdrop and the violet." 

Glad prophets of the life to be, 
A kindred spark abides in me. 
That, like the wind, no tether knows, 
And yet is comrade to the rose. 

Thus mother earth, thy gracious breast 
Gives all thy tired children rest, 
Where, sheltered from the storms they bide 
The coming of the Easter tide. 



146 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE SPIRIT OF SILENCE 

From a mansion window in careless way- 
Were tossed the roses of yesterday. 

But a breath of their fragrance drifted in 
Where a sick man lay — worn, pale, and thin. 

And the Spirit that builded, so long ago, 
The wise king's temple awoke, and lo! 

With never a sound would have stirred the thread 
That grows in the wake of a spider's tread, 

Stone, brick, and mortar were swept aside. 
And the sick man strolled by a meadow wide. 

O'er a low-hung ridge where the blue-joint tips 
Reach up till they beat at the passer's hips. 

A bluebird hopped on the topmost rail 
Of a zigzag fence, and a distant quail 

Called silvery clear: "More wet, more green!" 
Though never a cloud in the sky was seen. 

A drunken bobolink swayed and reeled 
O'er the yellow sea of a barley-field; 

Rang sweet the song of a joy-mad thrush; 
And a wild rose turned with a modest blush, 



THE SPIRIT OF SILENCE 147 

From the wooing bold of the cat-bird's drawl; 
The air was stilled with the cricket's call; 

And the man passed into the greenwood shade 
While the Spirit of Silence the town re-made. 

The tide of commerce roared over the bloom, 
And they covered the face in the darkened room 

Where the watchers wept, for the world is blind, 
But the Spirit of Silence is wise and kind. 



148 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE GOSPEL OF REST. 

I watched them jostHng in eager strife — 
(Locks of auburn and locks of gray)' 

Faces grown old with the cares of a life, 
Faces grown old with a day. 

And I paused to question, What better, O slave. 
Fast chained to the loom, when the web is spun 

And the cloth of your weaving scarce covers a grave- 
What better when all is done? 

Is it better to delve in the dust of trade. 
Close hugging its gold with a miser's greed? 

Or roam a barbarian free in the shade, 
Unfettered by law or creed? 

To plunge in the sea where the breakers roar, 
Or sit on the sand where the wave sings low? 

To trouble the river with noisy oar — 
Or drift with its quiet flow? 

Is it better to labor the long day through — 
(The hope, elusive, is ne'er fulfilled) 

Or loiter in shadow as dumb kine do. 
Let the field be fallow or tilled? 



THE GOSPEL OF REST 149 

The ark of wisdom may sometime keep 
From the flood of sorrow, the man of care, 

But Noahs will lie in the sun asleep, 
And only the few be fair. 

What better to burden the sportive brain 

With subtle reasoning — dim the eyes 
With constant seeking? Lo! yonder plam 

Breathes joy to the smiling skies. 

Go roam where the nightingale sings to his mate! 

Where the moon spills silver in dusky pool! 
The heart of the wanderer laughs at fate 
' If his feet with the dews be cool. 

The beautiful butterfly, leaving its cell, 

Leaps up to the sun from the sun-baked wall; 

Get wings! If the worm may despise the shall. 
What need for the man to crawl? 

Is living a lesson so hard to learn 
That we still are writing the task in tears? 

Let the gray dove mourn and the lone owl yearn, 
What are these to the song of the spheres? 

I watched them jostling in eSger strife- 

(Locks of auburn and locks of gray) 
Faces grown old with the cares of a life, 

Faces grown old with a day, 



ISO SWORD AND CROSS 

And I paused to question, What better, O slave, 
Fast chained to the loom, when the web is spun 

And the cloth of your weaving scarce covers a grave- 
What better when all is done? 



THE SINGER WHOM NOBODY KNOWS 151 



THE SINGER WHOM NOBODY KNOWS 

There's a dear little singer come out of the West, 

A singer whom nobody knows; 
TKe weary have only to listen and rest: — 

If biting old Boreas blows 
She pictures the gladness that Summer-time brings- 

The violets under the snows, 
Till the air is alive with the rustle of wings — 

The singer whom nobody knows. 

She lightens the burden of toiler opprest, 

The singer whom nobody knows; 
She coaxes despair from the wanderer's breast. 

Her verse so melodious flows 
It sweetens the speech of the slanderous tongue, 

It chastens the prodigal's woes. 
And soothes the poor bosom by perfidy wrung — 

The singer whom nobody knows. 

I would I might find her, this lyrical bee, 

This singer whom nobody knows; 
'Though plain as a sparrow, as charming to me 

As the delicate breath of a rose. 
Oh, precious her harvest, if so it be true 

That the Spirit shall reap as it sows. 
For she's bringing in lilies and casting out rue — 

The singer whom nobody knows. 



152 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE BETTER BIRTH 

Two came to the sexton at early morn, 

A peasant and servant of the king. 
The servant: "Ring, sexton, a glad acclaim: 

A son is born to his Majesty, ring!" 
The peasant: "O sexton I pray you toll, 

My boy is dead." And the graybeard smiled. 
While he rang a chime for the care-freed soul. 

And tolled for the king-born child. 



THE SOUL OF LIFE IS LOVE 153 



THE SOUL OF LIFE IS LOVE. 

The world is as a sterile cliff; 

But love is like the dew 
That falls upon it, and the moss, 
Like life, springs from the two. 
It creepeth o'er the barren stone 
Till all the place be verdant grown. 

The world is as a blasted oak. 

But love is like the vine 
That trails it o'er; its sunlit leaves, 
Like life, the two entwine. 
The trunk is green that erst was bare. 
And blossoms kiss it everywhere. 



The world is as a clouded sea, 

But love is like the sun 
That steals along the murky waves 
And brightens every one. 
O'er gloom is golden glory flung 
While sunbeams sport the waves among. 



154 SWORD AND CROSS 



■ - SWEET ROCK-A-BY 

Rock-a-by baby, my pink and white cherub, 
Droop little lids o'er the questioning eyes, 
Angels will guard thee and sweeten thy slumber, 
Rock-a-by, lullaby, pink and white prize. 
Into the land of the soft flowing water, 
Fairies and flowers and slow waving bough. 
Steal away baby, my pink and white rosy. 
Mamma is rocking thee, sleep baby, now. 

Mamma is rocking thee, lovingly rocking thee, 
Rock-a-by baby, my sweet, rock-a-by. 

Where will you wander, my pink and white beauty? 

Is it to heaven in dreams you will stray? 

'Twas only yesterday, pink and white rosy, 

Only but yesterday you came away; 

Now could I follow where soul-wings are wafting — 

Follow thy dreaming, O what should I see? 

Sleep, darling, sleep, and thy slumber over. 

Bring back thy visions, my baby, to me. 

Mamma is rocking thee, lovingly rocking thee, 
Rock-a-by baby, my sweet, rock-a-by. 



LONG YEARS AGO ISS 



LONG YEARS AGO 



Long years ago, on arid ground, 
Beside a rocky ledge, I found 

A tiny flower in bloom; 
The desert, bleak and bare and gray, 
All verdureless about us lay, 

Curled as the hand of doom 
Had touched and shriveled it; alone 
The flower bloomed above the stone- 

A star above a tomb. 



Tonight, inquisitive of mood, 

I wandered where the demon brood 

Of want and hunger wait; 
Where worth is sacrificed to might, 
And wanton creatures curse the Light 

In hovels desolate; 
Where ribald song and mocking jest. 
And shifting gaze and sunken chest 

Proclaim the Fiend's estate. 



And there in that discordant din, 
The heavy air red-ribbed with sin, 

I found a toddling child 
With face as pure and sweet and fair 



156 SWORD AND CROSS 

As e'er was fanned by Heaven's air, 

As angel's undefiled. 
"T^o! Thou art everywhere," I cried; 
"And love will bloom where love hath died, 

To cheer the bleakest wild." 



COLUMBUS 157 



COLUMBUS 

Hail! hail! hail! Mighty navigator! 
Hail! hail! hail! Prophet of the free! 
Creed and kingdom crumbling fall, 
Liberty enlightens all 

Now because of thee— 
Columbus! Columbus! 

All because of thee. 

Hail! hail! hail! Messenger of wisdom! 
Hail! hail! hail! Worthy child of Fame! 
Blare of trumpet, roll of drum — 
Ho, the Nations crowding come 
Chorusing thy name, 
Columbus! Columbus! 
Chorusing thy name. 



158 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE DEAD CROESUS 

He knew the scientific name 

Of every hot-house flow'r 
And in their glass-walled company 

He lingered many an hour. 
But where the lowly violet 

Bloomed bravely in the snow 
He never came; its humble ways 

He did not care to know. 



And now he's dead; of all his gold 

(So well he loved it, too,) 
Not one poor penny's worth enclasp 

The fingers cold and blue. 
The violet, sweet heaven's charge. 

Fills all the world beyond — 
But not one hybrid blossoms there 

Of which he was so fond. 



THE NEW PARSON 159 



THE NEW PARSON 

Yes, parson, you're studied in books, no doubt, 
But when the heart is a-Iongin' to pray, 
We don't consider what's best to say; 

There's a feelin' behind just a-crowdin' it out. 

Your preachin' has got us somehow unstrung; 

An' just when our feelin's beginnin' to wake, 

Some furrin lingo creeps in t' break 
The spell; we feel in our mother tongue. 

We ain't a-hungerin' for Latin an' Greek, 
What we want, parson, is reason an' truth. 
The good old kind that we larned in youth; 

An' a simple language we all can spealc. 

Your intentions is good, but your high-flown terms 
An' logic — no doubt o' the very best — 
Don't seem to lull us to peaceful rest, 

We listen and feel we are ignorant worms. 

The trout swims deep when the fishhawk calls; 

The thrush is oftenest found in the thorn; 

The scarecrow's better'n a rose in the corn; 
An' the rainbow shines where the water falls. 



160 SWORD AND CROSS 

A star is brighter seen through the trees, 
An' God is nearer in storm than sun; 
It tenders the heart an' it softens the tone 

To feci that He with His own agrees; 

That back of all trouble a Glorious Power 

Still leaves an' blossoms the bleak, bare grove; 
The vine climbs higher'n the tree for His love; 

The same as we mortals in tryin' hour. 

An' so believin' you can't think strange 
If we plod along in our simple way 
The little time that we have to stay, 

An' don't go huntin' about for change. 

Now don't be angered at what I've said. 
Go right on, parson, an' pray an' preach 
In a natural way an' a natural speech. 

An' let the dead languages rest with the dead. 



WHO SHALL JUDGE 161 



WHO SHALL JUDGE 

God made the Universe and hurled 

It forth to being, world on world. 

As hopefully the inventive boy 

Sets spinning his new-fashioned toy — 

But with this difference — Nature wrought 

Perfection from a perfect thought, 

And as 'tis true the spinning top 

Must, from its imperfections, stop, 

So true the world, of perfect plan, 

Will on forever. Dreaming man 

Sees only by imperfect light — 

Clear all things to the Infinite. 

Poor, blind humanity must feel 

Its way through life; and woe and weal, 

E'er winding pathways, near allied, 

Running forever side by side, 

What wonder man so often strays 

From that to this throughout his days! 

Today we deem ourselves sin-proof. 

And from the wayward hold aloof — 

Tomorrow flounder deep in woes 

While he we spurned straight onward goes. 

The heart is truest, noblest, best, 

That makes a brother's grief its guest; 

That gives to famished souls a feast 

And judgeth of its neighbor least. 



162 , SWORD AND CROSS 

The humble toiler trills along 
And lightens labor with a song — 
The worshipers of Mammon sneer 
Because, mayhap, the poet's ear 
Hath caught the harmonies that roll 
In rhythmic cadence round his soul, 
Forgetful of the pen and brain 
That gave the toiler his refrain. 
And poet, gentle still of heart. 
Sighs thoughtful, as he turns apart — 
"I'd rather be a lark and sing 
My song on free, empyreal wing, 
O'er-happy if, in Sorrow's throng 
One heart be lighter for the song, 
Than tuneless lord of boastful birth 
To banish Peace and throttle Mirth. 
And if at eve my pulsing breast 
To damp and chilly heath be prest, 
And frowning skies my comfort blight, 
I'll spring as gay at morning's light 
And pour my rippling melody 
Out o'er the field as full and free 
As though a thousand fairies strove 
To make my couch as warm as love." 

Thus minds, as planets, circle 'round. 
And Truth 'twixt opposites is found — 
Thus every being bears a part 
To stir the blood in Nature's heart. 
And, when at last this wordly guise 
Shall vanish in the light of eyes 



M^HO SHALL JUDGE 163 

True, perfect, clear as He shall give, 
'Twill be our destiny to live 
Where by heart is clearly read, 
And, howsoe'er our paths we tread. 
So shall we sup of woe or bliss 
In that world, as we love in this. 
And He, of all the life and soul, 
Must view His product onward roll 
Forever. For the worlds that be 
Swim in an everlasting sea. 



164 SWORD AND CROSS 



STRENGTH OF SIMPLICITY 

"Blow!" cried a lordly oak. "I brave 
The winds from everywhere!" 

A wood-flower in its shadow Rave 
A shiver of despair. 

The tempest woke. The forest kings 

Tost in the clouds their locks, 

And through the skies, on wings of flame, 

The thunder-gods contending came: — 

The tempest slept. The flower looked up, 
A rain drop shining in its cup — 
The oak lay on the rocks. 



ALONE 165 



ALONE 

The moon is waning in the sky 

(My steps are feeble grown and slow) 
I see the lazy dragon-fly 
On gaudy wing go sailing by — 
How chill the evening zephyrs grow. 



I watch the brown leaves twirl and fall — 
Fall down and flee on Autumn's breath; 

I hear the mournful ring-dove's call. 

The plover's cry, and each and all 
Bear solemn prophecies of death. 

Oh could my heart have drunk the draught 

Vouchsafed to some while shone the day, 
Death's cup I then had willing quaffed, 
Aye, drank the very dregs and laughed 
To see him cheated of his prey. 



Could I have had assurance sweet 

From but one soul in all the throng, 
That in the future, weary feet. 
Heavy with labor, should grow fleet 
Because my muse had sung one song! 



166 SWORD AND CROSS 

But no, not mine this joy. My days 

(Some buds there are which never ope) 
Have borne me in such darkened ways 
That, though I ever strain my gaze 
For light, I still in darkness grope. 

O Thou to whom I bend the knee. 
The stars and birds alike Thy care; 

Touch Thou mine eyes that I may see. 

Alone 'tis ever night, with Thee 
'Tis glorious morning everywhere. 



AB EXTRA 167 



AB EXTRA 

"There are no poor — thank God!" I cried and turned 

To see a burdened woman trembHng fare, — 
The strands of trouble silvering her hair — 
Slow from the shop close hugging what she'd earned: 
I saw the bundle that had been her task, 
A thousand stitches pearled with anxious tears, 
And all her pay, 

Food for a day, 
The putting forward just so far her fears, — 
"Let us give thanks, He answereth all who ask!" ' 



"Thanksgiving for Thy blessings manifold!" 
So rang the anthem and the righteous bow'd 
Within the church. Without, a blue-lipped crowd, 

Half-clad, half-fed, stood shivering with cold. 
"Give us to do your drudgery," they plead, 

"That we may eat." "There is a store of bread." 

The parson cried, "Give thanks, and prayer and praise, 
His sheep have come into their own at last, 
Have fallen on the full, delightful days — " 

"Give us to eat!" again the rabble cried. 
The parson, softly — "For the poor He died." 

"Thanksgiving!" cry the favored. "God is good!" 
The hovels tremble with the groans for food. 



168 SWORD AND CROSS 



DAWN AND DUSK 

Where all-year skies are blue and bright, 

And pour the moonbeams golden 
O'er flow-ring fields in floods of light — 

Where rambling houses olden 
Throw wide their doors on spacious halls 

And roomy chimneys brighten. 
In autumn days, the pictured walls, 

Where songs harmonious lighten 
The dusky toiler's burden; where 

The mocking bird makes cheery 
With every vagrant warbler's air, 

'Twas there I met my dearie. 

The zephyrs through the nodding pines 

Were musically stealing. 
The blossoms drifted from the vines 

That up the oaks were reeling; 
There, while the thrush sang overhead, 

Our tender vows we plighted — 
And solemn words were softly said, 

That our young lives united. 

Long years we've journeyed side by side. 

And all the hours are golden 
As moonbeams that through portals wide, 
All beautiful and silent glide 

Into the mansion olden. 



0, COME WITH ME 169 



O, COME WITH ME 

O come with me to the wild-wood free 

Where the south wind fetterless blows; 
Where the nymphs peep out with a saucy pout 

From the tips of the budding rose. 
Where the zephyrs play on their scented way, 

And the boughs with their tones are rife, 
Where voices I know will whisper us low 

From the soul of their secret life. 

O come with me where the thrush goes mad 

With joy of the summer's glow, 
And the squirrel calls from the orchard walls, 

And the time has never a no. 

Where the brook leaps up to the leaf-formed cup, 

And the mandrake nods in the shade. 
Where the blackberries peep from the coverts deep, 

And the wild bees' hoard is made. 
From the mad town come where the partridge drum 

Goes echoing down the glen. 
Let the crowd go by — it is moan and sigh 

And curse in the haunts of men. 

Then come with me where the thrush goes mad 

With joy of the summer's glow, 
Where the squirrel calls from the orchard walls, 

And the time has never a no. 



170 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE SILENT LAND 

God's language tells us we are One, 

And somewhere, 'twixt the stars and sun, 

The Vale of Peace in quiet lies, 

Where human hearts grow truly wise; 

Where gliding spirits feed the mind 

With truth; where souls are not confined 

To narrow paths, but roam at will 

O'er mead and mountain, heath and hill; 

In fair Tacita's waters lave. 

And, living, rest as in the grave. 

A land wherein the woeful word 

That blinds the thought is never heard, 

But soul with soul hath converse sweet. 

In language soundless, full, complete. 

Who enters there leaves speech behind, 

But mind, illumined, reads the mind. 

The gleaming walls that skirt it round 

Have never heard the voice of sound; 

Yet paeans swell and anthems roll 

Harmonious — music of the soul. 

To live will be to understand 

When we have gained the Silent Land. 



IN DIFFERENT MEASURE 171 

IN DIFFERENT MEASURE 
" Langrh and the world laughs with you."— Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

O, sing to the priestess of unrestrained pleasure, 

Laugh till the walls of the palace resound! 
Dainty shoon beat out the rhythmical measure, 

Wine glasses tinkle and leap at the sound! 
Crown her with roses, voluptuous red ones, 

Bring in the bacchanals, slaughter the calf — 
Poverty's wailing its dying and dead ones? 

Teach it, dear poetess, teach it to laugh. 



Long have we waited her muse to enroll us 

Angels of mercy the foremost and best: 
Others for ages refused to extol us — 

Singing forever the poor and oppressed. 
Homer to Burns! They did naught but abuse us, 

Flailing with wit our pretentions to chaflf, 
She is the first to redeem us and choose us 

The theme for a song — to delight in our laugh. 



Laugh and the world will laugh with you! Be cheery; 

Thrust back that sob on your womanish heart! 
Others have hovels as empty and dreary, 

Others have babes 'neath the Juggernaut cart — 



172 SWORD AND CROSS 

There is no treachery, knavery, sorrow, 
Throw down the crutches and discard the stafif, 

Put by your hunger, 'twill keep till tomorrow, 
Be deaf to the wailing of others and laugh. 



THE PESSIMIST 

Before him sweeps the cavalcade of Space; 
Behind him tramps the cavalry of Time; 
And 'twixt the two, with hopeless, aging face. 
He struggles through a chapparral of crime. 



POOR OLD WORLD 173 



POOR OLD WORLD 

Poor old world, thy sun's declining; 

'Twixt thy two extremes a door 
Darkling shuts — within the dining, 

And without the starving poor. 
Bankrupt all! We've banished pleasure, 

Passion rules the hearts of men — 
In the palace hoarding treasure 

Cursing treasure in the den. 

Fled the saintly triple Graces, 

Fled their gentle sister Peace; 
Gold has flattened human faces 

By the weight of its increase. 
Every lofty thought is smothered. 

Dead is Friendship's generous glow — 
See the race by Freedom mothered 

Unto Mammon bowing low. 



174 SWORD AND CROSS 



JUNE 

Most welcome, thou of lavish hand! 
A subtle fragrance fills the land; 
The sea is silver, and the strand 

A wave of gold; 
The fruit peeps forth on every hand, 

And flowers unfold. 

The verdant hills are proud to wear 
Thy blushing favors, and declare 
Thy purpled richness. Everywhere 

Is glory spread, 
And tree and shrub and earth and air 

To beauty wed. 



THE FALLEN LEAF 175 



' THE FALLEN LEAF 

From its brothers gay on the boughs at play- 
Like the tear of a hidden grief 

O'er the cheek of care — through the lambent air 
Slow-drifted an idle leaf. 

To be caught at last by the brook that passed 

And sang to the boughs above, 
Where it rose and fell with the dip and swell, 

Like a brooch at the throat of love. 

Then out on the stream, with a saucy gleam, 

It was swept by the current down 
Where the mists of grey from the rapids' play 

Are pied with the rocks of brown. 

Oh! the leaves that fall at the frost-king's call, 
They are mourned as the dead may be, 

But the one astray — how the home-hearts pray 
For that one on the Somewhere Sea. 



176 SWORD AND CROSS 



LIBERTY BELL AT THE WORLD'S FAIR 

Grand old bell, thy earlier mission but to voice on Sab- 
bath morning — 

As an angel's fingers pressed thee, 

As an angel's wings caressed thee. 

Softly chiming from the steeple, 

"Rest ye, rest ye, O my people!" 
In mellifluous tones and tender with an undertone of 
warning, — 

Changed thy speech, as all men know, 

On that morning long ago. 

When thy stern majestic ring 

Bade defiance to a king. 

In the streets are gathered thousands waiting for the 

message grand 
That shall loose their bonds and make them freemen 
in a freeman's land, — 
That shall by a single motion 
Send defiance o'er the ocean. 
Signal ships are outward pointed, 

Signal ships that homeward run, 
That a prince by priest anointed 
Is but man when all is done. 

Brave men breathless stand below thee, pale of cheek 

but stern of brow. 
Praying for th' proclamation — moments are as hours 

now. 



LIBERTY BELL AT THE WORLD'S FAIR 177 

See! the hand uplifted wavers, 

Falls — the bellman straining there, 
Sends the song on rhythmic quavers 

Out upon the dancing air, 
"They have sighed it, O my people!" 
Cries the bell from out the steeple, 
"Independence! Independence! Liberty is newly 

crowned!" 
Chorus all the waiting thousands till the old bell's voice 
is drowned. 

But that glorious proclamation, 

Swiftly everywhere it ran 
And demanded of each nation 

Equal rights for every man. 

How the spirit of Columbia into every heart has grown 
Best is told by yon White City — symbolizing all that's 
good. 
East and West are come together — there is neither pole 
nor zone, 
There is neither slave nor monarch; but where late 
the willow stood, 
Stands the wonder of the ages. Stroke the old bell's 
rusty side, 
Right has triumphed and before her cowers Tyranny 
and Pride. 



178 SWORD AND CROSS 



UNREWARDED 

To sing, that seemed his one delight, 

Betrayed of man, he sang for men, 
O'erfilled with gladness if he might 

But win the sad to smile again; 
Poor in those things the mean adore, 

Rich in those things the gods revere, 
He scattered largess from his store — 

The world repaid him with a sneer. 



Ah, bright the face of Hope appears 

To those by sad mischance distrest — 
A sun that rainbows falling tears, 

A moon that swims in Trouble's breast. 
But cruel fortune left him blind — 

She gave the cross, but kept the crown- 
He wrote his name upon the wind 

And weighted it with thistledown. 



THE COMING DAY 179 



THE COMING DAY 

You do not see the tears fall, 

O scoffers 

With coffers 
In which you lock your hearts; 
You do not see the mists that lie 
Before the ever-yearning eye 

When peace from life departs. 



You do not see the blood flow 
O blind ones, 
Unkind ones, 
Who hoard the shining dust; 
You do not know the grief they feel 
Who through a night of anguish kneel 
Praying to keep their trust. 



Yet they are all about you, 
The falling ones 
The calling ones, 
Here, there, they fainting lie; 
O when at last your steps are stayed 
And you are low beside them laid, 
Can you for mercy cry? 



180 SWORD AND CROSS 

If e'er the burden-bearing 
Shall cease to pray. 
Beware the day, 
Sweet princes, boasting mach! 
The lion ravened of her young 
Is gentler than the human stung 

Beyond Hope's healing touch. 



CLOTHES WORSHIP 

The world will crack the devil o'er the pate 
If, dressed in rags, he peep above the gate — 
But let the velvet hide his cloven hoof, 
He finds a welcome under every roof. 



THE GOOD IN EVERYTHING 181 



THE GOOD IN EVERYTHING 

I ain't jes' got my bearin's on these Socialistic facts, 
An' I'm summat undecided 'bout the scheme o' Single 

Tax, 
But all year round I'm pulling strong with any man ur 

creed 
'At gits a crowd together fur a feller-bein's need. 
I ain't sot on no theury, nur any special plan 
To bring about redemption. T' me the average man 
Is puz'lin' es a gol' mine — so many slants an' shifts — 
Ain't like to strike it payin' till y've run a dozen drifts; 
But one thing now I know es well es any man a-talkin', 
The bad ain't all in kerriges, nur all the gu'd a-walkin'. 

Take my ole mare — o' humble birth — she'd never 
captur' Bonner, 

But fleet Maud S., pert — speedy tew — with all her gew- 
gaws on her, 

'Ud never pull me half so safe. I take more comfort 
with her 

A joggin' through the pastur' lan's an' long the shaded 
river, 

Than he can git a-flyin' o'er a road o' powdered mortar 

An' feelin' 'at his nag don't pass es many es she'd 
orter — 

But both on 'em ha' got their pints thar ain't no sulks 
nur balkin' — 

The bad ain't all in kerriges, nur all the gu'd a-walkin'. 



182 SWORD AND CROSS 

That's few on us '11 edge t' square, fur Natur' runs t' 

bevels, 
But if there is a dearth o' saints thar ain't so many 

devils. 
The truth is, minor strains o' gu'd run through the 

most o' cre'tur's — 
We ain't all han'sum, but we've all got some redeemin' 

fe'tur's; 
An' when y' come across a man 'et seems supremely 

bad, 
Jes' fin' the stone 'et's shuttin' out the sunshine frum 

the lad. 
An' if you len' a kin'ly han' t' roll that stone away. 
You'll see a shoot come peepin' up t' greet th' cheerin' 

day. 
An' spreadin' out its tiny ban's, an' by an' by 't'll 

bloom. 
An' when the crucifiers cum they'll fin' an empty tomb. 
Now Paul was sich a feller, mos' cruel, hard an' col'. 
He'd titles, too, an' honors, an' a cheriot o' gol'. 
But when he turned he giv' his Hfe fur Him he'd been 

a mockin' — 
The bad ain't all in kerriges, nur all the gu'd a-walkin'. 

Las' week I saw a workin' man, es po'r es po'r cu'd be. 
With nothin' to pay taxes on, except 'twas misery, 
Put down his dinner-pail an' turn to cheer an' mil'ly 

chide 
A tipsy, broken 'ristocrat who talked o' suicide; 
An' yiste'day I saw the man thet po'r mechanic saved. 
All shinin' sleek in broadcloth, jes' newly primp'd an' 

shaved. 



THE GOOD IN EVERYTHING 183 

Go down a muddy alleyway whar' lay a sodden wight, 
An' bear him tenderly beyon' the shoutin' rabble's 

sight, 
An' that is why I'm moved t' say, for all the gloomy 

talkin', 
The bad ain't all in kerriges, nur all the gu'd a-walking. 

So while on one side Selfishness is keepin' what it gets, 
An' on the other Envy raves an' curses, fumes an' frets, 
Th' quiet people jog along th' road a-tween th' two, 
A gettin' gentler all th' time because o' good they do, 
A gettin' nearer, nearer yet t' that delightful time 
When ev'ry man '11 seek th' true in ev'ry Ian' an' clime, 
When Ekal Rights '11 compass all the surface o' th' 

yearth, 
An' man'll rank fur what he is despite o' wealth ur 

birth— 
Thar won't be any lan'lord then behin' th' tenant 

stalkin' 
An' gu'd '11 ride on ev'ry side, with Satan, maybe, 

walkin'. 



184 SWORD AND CROSS 



A SUMMER PICTURE 

In curving silken hammock hung, 

She slowly back and forward swung; 

Her left hand tost above her head, 

And in her right the book she read, 

Or seemed to read; yet each white lid, 

Blue-veined and heavy fringed, half hid 

Her brown-black eyes, whose dreamy light 

Shone like a half-seen star at night, 

When veil-like mist o'erhangs the air — 

And told her thoughts were otherwhere. 



Her wealth of yellow tresses caught — 
By silver bangles, Venice-wrought — 
Back from her brow, full, broad and low 
And trackless as new-fallen snow. 
Swept sloping downward, wave on wave, 
To hide the foam-white shoulders, save 
Where, 'twixt dividing, golden strands, 
They gleamed like pearls half hid in sands. 



One dainty, slippered foot peeped out — 

Its arching instep bound about 

With narrow bands of black and gold — 



I 



A SUMMER PICTURE 185 

From underneath the foam-like fold 
Of fluffy gown — greensward beneath, 
The trees above a giant wreath; 
She seemed not born of earthly strife. 
But marble starting into life. 



186 SWORD AND CROSS 



UNDER THE BLOSSOMS 

A Mid-May evening, calm, serene; 

The stars assembling faintly smiled 
On undulating fields of green, 

0,n wood where plum and apple wild, 
Their every bough a globe of bloom, 

With fragrant odors filled the air. 
On stream that in the softened gloom 

Of woodland shade sang sweetly there. 



With figure bent and falt'ring pace. 

Up from the vale a pilgrim came; 
Pale Want had pinched and limned his face, 

And Sin, Regret and Passion's flame 
Had so consumed him that he moved 
As one who, having Charon proved, 

Was come again to stroll among 
The rich, full beauties of the plain. 

'Twas like a glorious anthem sung. 
Wherein is one discordant strain. 



Just underneath the blushing bough 
He knelt beside the brook, to cool 

His fevered throat and throbbing brow. 
"Dear spot," he murmured, "worse than fool 



UNDER THE BLOSSOMS 187 

Was I, to leave so fair a place 

For city's glare and blaze and roar. 
O Innocence, thy gentle face 

Shall smile upon me nevermore!" 

He paused. Among the tender leaves 

The straying Zephyr sadly sighed. 
"And is there any heart that grieves 

Tonight for me?" he sudden cried. 
"Ah, God!" At that great word he bowed 

His head until the grasses swept 
His sunken cheek, and sobbed aloud, 

And prayer broke from him while he wept. 

THE PRAYER. 

"Sweet Spirit! Universal All! 

Pure source of gentleness and love! 
Who hearest e'en the sparrow call, 

I, to the verge of madness drove, 
Hard ridden by a devil horde 

Of scourging fiends, at last to Thee, 
Though late, I come; Thou art the Lord — 

Oh, be Thou merciful to me. 

"About my head the tempests drive, 

My feet are set in sinking sands, 
Within me evils live and thrive. 

To tear the good with cruel hands. 



188 SWORD AND CROSS 

On Virtue I have shut the door; 

My heart is lead, O Galilee! 
Thy love. Thy favor I implore — 

Dear Lord, be merciful to me." 



He slept. Above him sang a thrush; 

The twilight deepened into night, 
And, in the still and holy hush. 

The blossoms, delicately bright, 
Came slowly down from branch and bough, 

In fragrant clouds came down to hide 

The shame of sin and wreck of pride. 



They found him there at morning's light, 
All wrapped in robes of pink and white — 
And peace was on his brow. 



THE HAND THAT HOLDS THE PLOW 189 



THE HAND THAT HOLDS THE PLOW 

All about the corn is waving 
Emerald green with tips of gold; 
Amber wheat-fields sea-like laving 
Shores of hedge-row round them roll'd. 
'Neath yon poplars tall and stately, 
Robed in shimmering silver leaves. 
From his farm-house door sedately, 
Counts the lord his coming sheaves. 
Mark, as evening shadows lengthen, 
How he sends delighted eye. 
O'er the upland's wealth of treasure. 
Where the shaven meadows lie. 

Nature weaves her fairest garlands 
Round the sunburned reaper's brow, 
And the Ship of State is guided 
By the hand that holds the plow. 

See his oflfspring troop about him. 
Strong of limb and brown of cheek. 
Reared to trust and never doubt him. 
Labor taught from week to week. 
Within doors the housewife tripping 
Back and forth in thoughtful part, 
Loving hopes her steps out-stripping, 
Born within her mother-heart. 



190 SWORD AND CROSS 

Till the snowy cloth is laden 
With the food her hands prepared — 
Home-instructed while a maiden — 
Richer feast was never shared. 

Nature weaves her fairest garlands 
Round the sunburned reaper's brow, 
And the Ship of State is guided 
By the hand that holds the plow. 

Can there grow — in city splendor — 
Walled and sunless, rank with sin, 
Souls so broad they would defend, or 
Die, their country's good to win? 
Hero minds need diff'rent feeding — 
Hills and valleys, sky and sun. 
Such will rise, their country needing, 
Rise true patriots every one. 
Slavery never can enthrall them. 
Gold is serf to Right the king. 
Dragon Greed cannot appal them. 
Who have heard the river sing. 

Nature weaves her fairest garlands 
Round the sunburned reaper's brow. 
And the Ship of State is guided 
By the hand that holds the plow. 



TO A WOUNDED BIRD 191 



TO A WOUNDED BIRD 

Ppor little warbler! harmless thing 
That late on buoyant, sportive wing, 
High up among the clouds, did'st sing 

Thy glad refrain, 
Now helpless at my feet you f^ing, 

The slave of Pain. 

Thy voice, that erst, so full and clear, 
Was wont my lonely heart to cheer, 
Now shrill with pain and piteous fear — 

Cheering no more — 
Wins for itself but Pity's tear. 

And grieves me sore. 

Poor songster! not thy voice alone 

From troubled breast sends up its moan, 

Thine not the only pleading tone 

Of breaking heart — 
So man must ever sigh and groan 

E'en from the start. 

'Tis thus the mortal that has found 
Thee, blasted by a cruel wound, 
Gropes ever darkly 'round and 'round. 

With mind untaught, 
Striving with many a useless bound 

A flight of thought. 



192 SWORD AND CROSS 

So must he ever panting lie, 

Far, far below Hope's glowing sky, 

To which he fain would quickly fly 

In loving trust. 
But ever with a feeble cry 

Falls in the dust. 



EASTER LILIES 

What though you build cloud-high the wall, 
What though the sword you constant wield! 

All kingdoms, monarchies shall fall 

Because of these — and over all 
Shall stand the lilies of the field. 



BETTER THAN GOLD 193 



BETTER THAN GOLD 

Cast your bread upon the water, 
Pleading, hungry at your feet; 
High or humble, king or cotter, — 

Charity's returns are sweet. 
By a word that's fitly spoken, 
Howe'er simple it may be, 
Oft a chain of evil's broken 
And a fettered slave is free. 

Cast your bread upon the waters, 
Tossing sea or dimpled burn, — 
These are all His sons and daughters,- 
Give! nor question the return. 



Every tear that's stayed from falling 

Is a diamond for your crown; 
O the ceaseless, ceaseless calling 

Of the dear ones trampled down! 
,But for those whose strength is given 

To the shielding of the weak, 
Storms are still, the clouds are riven, 
Zephyrs chant and sunbeams speak. 
Cast your bread upon the waters, 

Frowning sea or dimpled burn — 
These are all His sons and daughters,- 
Give! nor question the return. 



194 SWORD AND CROSS 

Every stream of kindness flowing 

Stays some feet that sin-ward roam; 
Every lamp of mercy glowing 

Guides some wand'ring brother home; 
Nature opes her veins to nourish 

Vines of truth where'er they run, 
And a thousand blossoms flourish, 
Pressing in the track of one. 

Cast your bread upon the waters, 
Moaning sea or dimpled burn — 
These are all His sons and daughters,- 
Give! nor question the return. 

Every youth that's upward pointed 

By the riper mind of age, — 
Every age by youth anointed, 

Beautifies a barren page. 
Patient Faith has ever wrought her 

Triumphs through the gentle heart — 
Cast your bread upon the water, 
Heroism's noblest part. 

Cast your bread upon the waters, 
Moaning sea or dimpled burn, 
These are all His sons and daughters,- 
Give! nor question the return. 



HE WROTE FOR ALL 19S 



HE WROTE FOR ALL 

"The world is cruel, careless, cold," 
I sighed, "and cares for naught but gold! 
Why should my troubled pages plead 
A brother's woe — a brother's need!" 

"My song is drowned in Mammon's roar," 
(I flung my pen upon the floor) 
"The hand that Fortune stoops to bless 
Must crush the buds of tenderness." 

My toddling wee one put the pen 
Into my trembling hand again. 
And, clambering upon my knee, 
Said, archly: "Papa, wite for me." 

I wrote — a homely, childish tale 
Of hope and love — no pensive wail 
Of others' wrongs — but what her smile 
Had wakened in my heart the while. 

And when the ink had scarcely dried, 
I heard the song on every side; 
It filled the land from sea to sea. 
While thousands cried, "He wrote for me." 



196 SWORD AND CROSS 



SISTERS OF MERCY 

Theirs is the holy beauty that in the lily dwells, 

Or sways the purple clover when chime the distant 
bells; 

The sweet, unspoken beauty, too delicate to trace, 
That hideth in the heart to light the plainest human 
face. 



IN RUSSET CLAD 

In russet clad, with velvet shoon, 

Sedate and sober, 
Symbolical of Life's full noon 

God's answer to the bloom of June-October. 



LOVE'S COMPLETENESS 197 



LOVE'S COMPLETENESS 

They met 'neath an oak in a sheltered glade. 
On a fair May morning, — the bright-eyed maid 

And sturdy ploughman — through brown and tan, 
Her gaze sank into the soul of the man. 

She loved him, and he, — in the fields alone 
He lingered wherever a flow'r was blown 

To whisper his secret, — the birds all knew, 
And sang the story so clear and true 

That his great heart thrilled in his bosom grand, 
Lest others should hear them and understand. 

They met, and there at the maiden's feet, 
A wild rose nestled secure and sweet. 

He plucked the blossom with tender care, 
And twining the stem in her golden hair, 

Low whispered: " 'Tis crowned with a gem of dew. 
It shall gleam in your tresses, a crown for you, 

The queen of all flow'rs, from the violet 

That looks from your eyes, to the blooms which fret 

The boughs of the oak where the woodbine clings, 
And the wild dove nests and the red-bird sings. 



198 SWORD AND CROSS 

Then down from a branch, as he tremulous spoke, 
Slow drifted a leaf from the listening oak, — 

Till swaying and shifting, like mystical wand, 
It rested at last in the maiden's hand. 

Quickly she clasped it, to answer him — "See! 
The oak of the forest is most like thee. 

From your lips come words, as the leaves that fall. 
That are rich with comfort and cheer for all. 

The tree to the hurricane ofifers its breast. 

That the weak in its bosom may shelter and rest, 

It broadens its shade in the noontide heat, 
And peaceful comfort envelops its feet. 

The modest blossom that decks my braid 
Came fearless forth in its cooling shade. 

Nay, look where the trunk by the storm is riven. 
To the weaker vines is a foothold given. 

And mount they gaily in loving strife. 
To broader and sweeter and sunnier life. 

Though man may harshly these faults condemn. 
They are rounds in the ladder of hope to them. 

The flower is fragile, but strong the tree, 
The oak for you, and the rose for me. 



LOVE'S COMPLETENESS 199 

Spring went and came with its bud and bloom, 
With sunshine and song and the flash of plume. 

The rich full Autumn turned gold and red 

The great green wreath 'round the old oak's head, 

But ever again when the soft May air 
Is kissing the lips of the roses fair, 

In the quiet shade of the oak, these twain 
That glad spring morning live over again. 

And youthful faces about them bend. 
And youthful voices in harmony blend. 

There are tongues a-prattle and pattering feet. 
The oak, the rose with the vines complete. 



200 SWORD AND CROSS 



FORSAKEN 

O shadow of Erebus, hide me; 

The day hath no pleasure for me. 
Nor human nor angel may guide me; 

I drift on an under-world sea 
Shut in by the Mountain of Reason, 

Storm-beaten by Reason's disdain — 
A cycle declined to a season. 

An unbroken winter of pain. 

Shut in by a custom unshaken, 

Shut out from the sweetness of home; 
From visions of joy I awaken, 

To battle with demon and gnome. 
My soul as a bird of the morning. 

Went soaring and singing thy name; 
Now, stripped for thy selfish adorning, 

It creeps back in darkness and shame. 

The hands that so gently caress thee 

Hold lashes to scourge me; the lips 
That trouble sweet heaven to bless thee 

Curse me to the verge of eclipse. 
God pity them, dearest! God pity! 

For myself, I shall finish the jest 
With a meaningless laugh through the city, 

To sleep in the River of Rest. 



THE BETTER YEAR 201 



THE BETTER YEAR 

Two radiant stars in the long ago 

Shone fair on a world with the war aflame, 
And men grew gentler for Sappho's woe, 

And nobler because of a Roman's fame. 

Yet brute-blood lingered, and nobles heard 
The shriek of anguish without a sigh, 

And the veins of matron and maiden stirred 
And thrilled with pleasure to see men die. 

How pale thy passion, O singer sweet! 

How dim thy glory, O man of pride! 
In the love-light born where the two worlds meet. 

At the tomb of the Nazarene, crucified! 

Are hands still crimson with life's dear bloom? 

Does love still bleed in the press of strife? 
Do sun-beams struggle through clouds of gloom 

That rise from the furnace of sordid life? 

Behold the selfish turned strangely just, 
The just grown gentle; the kind, sincere! 

While fruit displaces the hardened crust 
In the softened glow of a better year. 



202 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE OUTCASTS 

High in an attic, grim and scant, 
A ragged creature lonely sat — 

His face was limned with pain and want; 

At once he cried, "Begone! Avaunt!" 
As o'er the threshold crept a cat. 



"Stay, stranger, do not drive me hence? 

I pray thee, list my tale of woe, 
I am too poor to give ofifense. 
And stripped of every finer sense, 

I scarce fear either word or blow. 



"It was not always so; before 

They turned me out the streets to roam, 
I always found an open door. 
Alas, when we grow old and poor. 

That we should be without a home! 



"The children loved to stroke my back. 

When I was sleek, and round, and fat — 
Watch the sparks fly and hear them crack. 
And call me pretty puss. Alack, 
I'm now but a neglected cat! 



THE OUTCASTS 203 

"Once, when a bell the children found — 

A tiny, tinkling bell — they tied 
It with a pretty ribbon round 
My throat, and at its merry sound 

They laughed and laughed until they cried. 

"But now whene'er my form they spy 
With ready hand they fling the bat, 

And I am forced for life to fly; 

I've lost a foot — an ear — an eye: 
Alas, I am a sorry cat!" 

■'Poor creature, you have come at last, 
To one who feels your woe — like you, 

By all the harsh, cold world outcast, 

To dream of an embittered past 
That proved all false lie once deemed true. 

"Come, outcast, ragged as you are, 
Take half my crust: 'tis hard and dry. 

And all I have — but you shall share; 

And, while I live, so shall you fare 
Till one or both of us shall die." 



204 SWORD AND CROSS 



SNOW VIOLETS 

O bravely the violets bloom in the snow: 
The chill winds of March that are hurrying so 
Seem tempted to linger — regretfully go 
From the fragrant sweet violets sprung from the 
snow. 

Man's work, not his strength, but his weakness re- 
veals : 
O'er drunken with knowledge humanity reels 
By the fountains of wisdom. The lowliest flower 
Surpasses the wonderful: castle and tower, 
Carved marble, oiled canvas, how poorly they show 
Where the brave little violets bloom in the snow. 



THE FALSE NOTE 205 



THE FALSE NOTE 

Does a strain of exultation 

Steal, unbidden, to the tone 
Voicing sympathy and comfort, 

When another's hope is flown? 
Does regret come slyly plucking 

At the sleeve, while we rejoice 
When another has succeeded 

By his deed, or pen, or voice? 
Hail the blemish in the blossom! 

Hail the discord in the tune! 
We should come to hate the roses 

Were the year a round of June. 



206 SWORD AND CROSS 



SUB ROSA 

So small a thing as one wee kiss; 
You surely won't refuse me this? 
From all your store, you'll never miss — 
There! Tell me, Bright-eyes, tell me true, 
You rather like it? Yes, you do! 

Is there a bee from such a flower 
Would flee till drunken in th6 bower? 
How? No, this is the quiet hour; 
We're unobserved. What if who knew? 
Oh, so you like it? Yes, you do! 

He who should kiss and tell, must be 
Still more devoid of heart than he 
Who scorns to kiss at all. And see, 
Now that you're certain I'll be true, 
For each I give I get back two. 



ETERNITY 207 



ETERNITY 

Go where the tow'ring precipice 

Frowns on the climbing sea; 
Go where the air is frightened by 

Niagria leaping free; 
Go where the hungry-featured crowd 

About the custom-place, 
Their fingers white with clutching tight 

The curse of Adam's race — 
And then at quiet hour of night 

Go muse upon the stars 
That fret the sweeping arch of heav'n 

With all their countless bars, 
And know that when this heaving mass 

Is fallen to decay, 
Those stars will shine serenely on 

And on and on alway. 



208 SWORD AND CROSS 



AN APRIL EVENING. 

The virgin leaves in friendly play, 
The thrush a-tremble with his lay, 
The snipe's dull boom, the plover's call. 
The robin's treble winding through it all. 



ON AN OLD DOOR-STONE AT YALE 

What devious paths they since have trod, 
The feet that wore this granite thin; 

But leveled forest, broken sod 

And temples leaping up to God 
Tell where their ways have been. 



THE POET 209 



THE POET 

A poet is — why, naught but this: 

A throbbing instrument, whose strain. 

When joyous, is most full of pain, 

When mournful, rich in bliss. 

A fettered bird that longs to fly. 

Yet, freed, droops nerveless, idly by. 

Nor spreads its wings till, chain'd once more, 

It beats its life out in a vain attempt to soar. 

A poet is — why, who can tell? 

Companion of sweet Nature's joy, 

Fate's idle plaything, Passion's toy, 

Combined of Heaven and Hell. 

He pores above the Book of Man, 

Its close-writ pages each to scan, 

Learns every thought to feel and state, 

And rides o'er darkling cares and woes elate. 

This is a poet; more than this, 
He knows the grandeur heroes feel 
When surging on with naked steel 
Where death's hot missiles hiss; 
With them he scales the battlements 
Through battle-smoke and carnage dense. 
With blood-dyed blade and batter'd shield, 
Till waves their flag triumphant o'er the field. 



210 SWORD AND CROSS 

This is the poet, ay! and more; 

His fate it is to hold and bound 

A soul that, like a sea of sound, 

Breaks on a farthest shore. 

Through darkness of the lengthened night 

To labor with a Heav'n-born might 

Distilling dewdrops, pure and clear. 

That diamond-like touch up the wordly ear. 



'TIS NOBLE TO LABOR 211 



' 'TIS NOBLE TO LABOR 

'Tis noble to labor, but low to slave, 
We should cleave our task as the ship the wave. 
Not falter and flounder, as through a wood 
Grown rank with briars; half understood 
The thing appals us; well learned it seems 
As smoothly pleasant as childhood's dreams. 
We joy in the progress each day we make. 
And labor is sweet for its own dear sake. 

The nigardly miser we may despise, 
But rational saving is good and wise; 
The independent is he who can 
Grant favors, nor ask them of any man. 
What pleasure the poor to assist, but when 
The needy are those whom we love; ah then 
The clink of silver and gold's bright shine 
Bring joy to the giver that's quite divine. 



212 SWORD AND CROSS 



I KNOW 

I know that joy is everywhere, 
That trooping pleasures fill the earth, 

For all day long before my door 
The children sport in noisy mirth. 

I know that Charity is queen, 

And kindness leavens more and more, 
For gates are open in the wall 

That once divided rich and poor. 

I am not wise to answer those 
Who call me mad, but this I know. 

That all the world is leal and true, 
Because the ones I love are so. 



AN AUTUMN TRAGEDY 213 



AN AUTUMN TRAGEDY 

Mid-afternoon. All overhead 

A trackless, blue expanse, 
Along the stream the sumac red 

Defiant rears his lance. 
The partridge in the hollows drum. 

The bannered maples gleam, 
And naked cotton-wood and plum 

Hang ghostly o'er the stream. 

The spring brook, through an avenue 

Of yellowed beach and elm, 
Bears gayly on, with ants for crew — 

A cricket at the helm — 
A broad, frost-curled, catalpa leaf, 

Its prow with silver crossed — 
Two pebbles form a deadly reef. 

The shipwrecked crew is lost. 



214 SWORD AND CROSS 



HOPE 

When the weight of sorrow presses on the weary, 
weary heart; 

When the future we have trusted fails to do its prom- 
ised part 

As it sweeps into the present — when we shrink, de- 
ceived, betrayed. 

With the fruit of Expectation turning bitter in the 
shade 

Of the Tree of Knowledge reaching, with its one for- 
bidden bough, 

Through the shadow of the ages to the stern and star- 
ing now; 

When the long-desired fulfillment, clasped at last in our 
embrace. 

Proves a chill and bloodless nothing with a stolid, 
painted face; 

When the sinking sky is darkened with the gloomings 
of despair. 

Not a single star to brighten — only blackness every- 
where — 

Comes a breeze so gently blowing, comes a warm and 
tender light, 

Stealing up the eastern heaven, and Despair and sable 
Night 

Slowly fade away together — Morning trips along the 
slope, 

And the spirit's day breaks newly with the dawning 
light of Hope. 



A LEGEND OF ESQUIMAU BAY 215 



A LEGEND OF ESQUIMAU BAY 

O bright was the morning! All nature adorning, 

The sunbeams of summer shone free, 
When Mary came down o'er the sands from the town 

To the damp golden rim o' the sea. 

For her Jamie today would go sailing away, 

To a country is strange to her ken, 
And through a whole year she must sorrow and fear 

And wait for his coming again. 

Now she reaches the dock — in his blue sailor smock 

A gay ribboned cap on his head, 
With his hands stretchin' out — there be men all about, 

But she falls in his arms like the dead. 

The face now at rest on his high-heaving breast, 

It is white as the April day snow; 
Jamie sobs out a cry: "Help men, she will die!" 

As gently he sways to and fro. 

And the twice helpless men mutter over again, 

"Et will die, pretty lass, thet et will!" 
And down the rough cheeks of each one as he speaks 

Flows many a heart-touching rill. 



216 SWORD AND CROSS 

But they stand like a ship that is moored in the slip, 

With hearts, but no knowledge to do. 
Till at last Mary sighs, slowly opens her eyes, 

And looks round on the pitying crew. 

Then the blood to her face comes in hurrying race. 
As she hides her wet cheeks on the breast 

Of Jamie, while they to a man turn away 
And point to the sea's foaming crest. 

The farewells are passed, and the good ship at last 

Has sailed from the sheltering quay. 
And wringing her hands Mary comes o'er the sands, 

Her face turning still to the sea. 

A year has gone by, and the summer draws nigh. 

The sunlight is warm on the bay. 
But no other ship's been where the good ship was seen 

That bore the brave sailor away. 

The night it was dark and the tempest blew stark 
With the mad v/aters pounding the shore, 

"Mither, list!" Mary said, as she turned in her bed, 
"There's some un wha Tcnocks at the door. 

"Ther's some 'un wha knocks an a ship on the rocks, 

I can hear, mither, breakin' her sides!" 
"T'sleep, child, nae fear, 'tis the winds that y' hear 

And the high rollin' sweep o' the tides!" 



A LEGEND QF ESQ VIM A U BAY 217 

"There's some 'un wha calls, mither, some 'un wha calls, 

It is Jamie's voice, mither, I know!" 
"Na, child, dinna min', 'tis the gale in the pine 

'Et lifts on the crag there below!'' 

The tempest grew still as she spoke, on the sill 

A half-sound of hurrying feet, 
The barred door swung wide, and with still, ghostly 
stride 

Came Jamie, his Mary to greet. 

His face was as grave as the curve of a wave, 

The seaweed was wound in his hair, 
His jacket was gray with the sand and the spray, 

And the sea-brine that dripped from it there. 

The mother grew white and still with afTright, 

But Mary sighed, "Jamie, 'tis he!" 
No word Jamie spake, but her hands he did take 

And pointed away to the sea. 

Her eyes to his own all so trustfully shone. 

While slowly she rose from the bed. 
And with him she passed through the door — holJine; 
fast 

To the hand of the wraith of her dead. 

Again the storm grew, louder yet the winds blew. 
The door slowly swung to its place — 

And in shivering fright the poor mother all night 
Cowered there with close covered face. 



218 SWORD AND CROSS 

The morning came fair with a soft gentle air, 

But sorrow was over the town. 
For the good ship Labrocks on the sharp cruel rocks, 

In the storm of the night had gone down. 

And there were a score of brave men or more 
That the waves to the shallows had borne; 

And many a Kate must weep for her mate 
And many a mother must mourn. 

Where Mary had dwelt the poor mother knelt 

In a corner with meaningless stare, 
"Christ, Jesu!" cried she, pointing out to the sea, 

"My Mary and Jamie are there." 

Now by Esquimau Bay, so the village folk say. 
When at night the storm lashes the sea. 

Their wraiths hand in hand may be seen on the strand 
As loving as lovers may be. 



WISDOM 219 



WISDOM 



Wouldst thou gather wisdom? Go 
Where the gentle waters flow, 
Where the flowers and the trees 
Sway in converse with the breeze; 
Where around the mountain's poll 
Silence thunders to the soul. 
Mysteries from two concealed 
Oft to him are clear revealed 
Who, in solitude, alone. 
Lingers where a flow'r is blown, 
Feels the music, as it passes. 
Of the marshal-hearted grasses 
Pressing forward out of night 
Into liberty and light. 
Forth in evening's calm, to view 
Heav'n's star-lighted vault of blue; 
Note the bull-bat's noiseless flight 
Through the silver gray of night; 
List the crickets piping slip 
From the clover; watch the dip 
Of the sword of Dian, prest 
Slow into the mountain's breast. 
Where he rears him, stern and grim. 
On the Occidental rim. 
Knowledge weaves of earthly things, 
Wisdom mounts on eagle wings, 
Wins the Parcae's magic wand, 
And peers into the world's beyond. 



220 SWORD AND CROSS 



MAY 



We heard not a sound of their marshaling feet, 

Saw never the gleam of a spear, 
Till their tents stood saucily fronting each street, 

And the army of blossoms is here. 



MARCH 

Pale autumn moves, with gentle tread 
And quiet air, among the dead; 
March whips the sullen sky to tears, 
And lo ! the violet appears. 



A MORNING SPIN 221 



, A MORNING SPIN. 

Again I mount to whirl along 

The singing breeze, 
(The world hath not another song 

So like to please!) 
By hedges green, through leafy wood. 

O'er meadow wide, 
A joy-compelling Robin Hood, 

I noiseless glide. 

Yon swallow sailing through the sky 

Hath greater need 
Of man's companionship than I 

Upon this steed. 

What fragrant odors where I run, 

And merry chimes. 
And songs (O sweet unworded one 

Of mellow rhymes!) 
Embow'ring trees, the waving corn, 

Gay winding brook, 
And dew drops flashing to the morn 

Where e'er I look. 

Yon swallow sailing through the sky 

Hath greater need 
Of man's companionship than I 

Upon this steed. 



222 SWORD AND CROSS 

O wond'rous offspring of the mind! 

O precious prize! 
Thou bear'st me swifter than the wind 

'Neath smiling skies. 
Half drunken with the joy I feel, 

Sweet Zephyr-fanned, 
A conquerer of time I reel 

Through fairy land. 

Yon swallow sailing through the sky 

Hath greater need 
Of man's companionship than I 

Upon this steed. 



HANDSOMEST OF ALL 223 



HANDSOMEST OF ALL 

True, you may not call her handsome — 

May not even deem her fair; 
In her cheeks no roses blossom; 

Gold-gleams flash not in her hair; 
Smoother brows there are, and whiter, 

Eyes that hold a gayer light — 
Neither are her fingers taper 

Nor her hands as lilies white; 
In her step there's nothing fawn-like, 

Low and tremulous her tones — 
But far dearer her possessions, 

Sweeter still the charm she owns. 
There are others worth admiring. 

Handsome if you will— but she 
Is my mother, tender, loving, 

Handsomest of all to me. 

'Round her brow there winds a garland 

Of a thousand answered prayers; 
In her hand she bears the lilies 

Of a thousand lightened cares; 
Every tress that Time has silvered 

By an angel's kiss is blest; 
And her cheeks have burned their roses 

On the love-fires in her breast. 
With the strength her toils have wasted 



224 SWORD AND CROSS 

Manly hearts beat high today, 
Storing for her future comfort, 

Pouring gladness in her way. 
There are others worth admiring, 

Handsome if you will — but she 
Is my mother — tender, loving. 

Handsomest of all to me. 



In this gentle, trustful clinging 

I can read the far-off past — 
See myself as timid, falt'ring. 

To her firmness anchored fast. 
How she soothed each childish sorrow, 

Smoothed each wrinkle from my brow. 
Kissed away the tears and cheered me, 

Even as I cheer her now. 
Life is but a half-spelled sentence 

Scattered o'er a blotted page, 
But the heart that's true remembers 

Age is youth and youth is age. 
There are others worth admiring, 

Handsome if you will — but she 
Is my mother — tender, loving, 

Handsomest of all to me. 



There are loves and loves in plenty 
Which to win I oft am fain. 

Rich as skies of autumn morning. 
Warm as sunshine after rain; 



HANDSOMEST OF ALL 22S 

But their shining is as shadow, 

And their warmth, compared to hers 
Is as loosely woven laces 

To the soft New Zealand furs; 
Often hath my heart a yearning 

Nothing will assuage but this, 
Her dear fingers on my forehead. 

On my lips her holy kiss. 
And when round His throne we gather, 

Of all saints she still will be 
Fairest, purest, dearest, sweetest, 

Handsomest of all to me. 



226 SWORD AND CROSS 



EPISTLE TO OPIE READ 

Hail! goddess of the yellow braid! 

The Queen of press and measure! 
Now are the rural toils repaid 

With heaps of shining treasure. 

Ye desk-worn! throw your pens aside, 

Discard the puzzling book, 
And come where skies are blue and wide. 

And thought is like the brook 
That sings along the hazel slope 

And leaps among the rocks. 
The woods! The fields! Renew your hope, 

And the luster in your locks! 

Come where the salmon graceful glide, 

Their golden sides a-quiver — 
Or where the stubborn pike divide 

The swiftly flowing river. 
Come where the partridge-thunder peals, 

Aud mallards part the rushes 
As o'er the bridge, with creaking wheels. 

The loaded wagon crushes. 

Come where the quail prophetic speaks, 
And where the saffron boughs 

The playful jay with sapphire streaks; 
Come where the hungry plows 



EPISTLE TO OPIE READ 227 

Devour the stubble, flashing bright 

At every turn; and swains 
Who strip the golden ears delight 

The fields with jocund strains. 

Along the stream the peaceful kine 

Industrious crop the heath — 
Their full distended bellies shine, 

Their glossy sides beneath, 
While round the sullen monarch glow'rs. 

His front all-sable curled, 
With mutt'rings fierce proclaims his pow'rs. 

Then challenges the world. 

My friend, to your creative mind 

These scenes I know are dear, 
For them your converse I resigned, 

For you I sing them here; 
Nor do all rural subjects bear 

The rude untutored part. 
Full oft the shy reserve they wear 

Conceals a trusty heart. 

Where blossoms 'broider every path, 

And climbing roses grace 
The cottage doorway, Spite and Wrath 

Find thorny resting-place. 
Here e'en the ever-boding crow 

Croaks in a smoother way, 
And blackbirds seem each noon to know 

A still more tuneful lay. 



228 SWORD AND CROSS 

At early morn to meet the sun 

My joyful way I take — 
How musical the brooks that run 

To leap into the lake ! 
The timid plovers veering rise 

With supplicating cry — 
The pointed pinion swiftly plies 

Along the purpling sky. 

Now fair amidst his shining force 

The God of day appears. 
Swift up the sky he holds his course; 

Speed forth the gleaming spears, 
Till every dusky shape is slain 

That steads the courts of night, 
And swims the woodland, hill and plain. 

In warm, refitlgent light. 

When midway in the tender blue 

The sun all shadows cheer, 
I seek the wood and there review 

The books of Hope and Fear, 
The hoarding squirrel shrilly calls, 

"The winter comes; lay by!" 
"Enjoy," cries every leaf that falls, 

"Decay and death are nigh." 

The gray dove now, forsaken bird, 

Bemoans its absent mate; 
Now winds the heavy-uddered herd 

Slow through the pasture gate. 



EPISTLE TO OPIE READ 229 

The careful herdsman stands to count, 

And ere his task be done, 
High up the rocky ledge I mount 

To view the setting sun. 

The budding Spring is gay with song. 

The summer boasts her charms, 
And when old Winter roars along 

How grand are his alarms! 
But Autumn! Life's dividing line — 

The round year's richest part! 
You've many an abler pen than mine, 

But no m.ore faithful heart. 



230 SWORD AND CROSS 



LOU M. WILSON 

Art weary, love, despondent, weak? 

Look up! the skies are thine; 
What though today be cold and bleak, 

The morrow's sun will shine. 
Come, take my hand, 'tis firm and strong, 

'Twill give you hope and cheer — 
What though the way be dark and long, 

If so that Love be near? 

Look forward — never backward — heart. 

The past comes not again. 
The sunbeams on the mountain dart 

Though clouds o'erhang the plain. 
Up higher yet! The risk is great? 

The prize is what you will; 
The faithful sing at Heaven's gate. 

The indolent are still. 



THE HORSE-SHOE BADGE 231 



THE HORSE-SHOE BADGE 

How pleasing the strains of the harp or piano, 
How stirring the call of the bugle or drum; • 
And hopeful the song of the robin in spring-time, 
When trees are a-bud and the violets come; 
How dreamful the sound of the rain on the clover, 
In stillness that follows Jove's threatening roll; 
But the music that hurries my blood and awakens 
The sweetest and holiest chords in my soul. 

Is the chink, chink, chink. 

And the clink, clink, clink. 
Where the forge-flame ebbs and flows. 

And I pause whene'er 

On the air I hear 
The ring of the blacksmith's blows. 
As he turns the shoe in whose form I see 
The symbol of all that is dear to me. 

Now firmly the links of affection are welded, 
I know those again I had not thought to know; 
O, peace of the soul and a constant sweet quiet, 
Beyond all the power of the craftiest foe 
To darken or trouble or hinder or rufHe; 
Not sighing of Sappho, or piping of Pan, 
Hold half so sweet measure to stir me or thrill me, 
As the strokes of this brawny-armed, soot-powdered 
man. 



232 SWORD AND CROSS 

With his chink, chink, chink, 

And his clink, clink, clink, 
Where the forge-flame ebbs and flows. 

And I pause whene'er 

On. the air I hear 
The ring of the blacksmith's blows, 
As he turns the shoe in whose form I see 
The symbol of all that is dear to me. 



WHITTIER 233 



WHITTIER 

I saw the moaning ocean turn 

To leave the weeping land, 
And then come laughing back again, 

A white wreath in its hand. 

I saw the full moon creep behind 

A cloud that hid its light. 
To re-appear high up above, 

A hundred-fold more bright. 

I saw a herdsman lead afar 
His panting, thirsty flocks, 

I saw the waters burst for him 
In fullness from the rocks. 

I saw the negro scourged and bound, 

I heard the hammer fall, 
And then the Nation's mighty voice: 

"Be free, my children, all!" 

He trod where only prophets tread; 

Put these sad symbols by, 
And bring them forth wlien one is dead- 

And Whittier cannot die. 



234 SWORD AND CROSS 



GRANT— A REQUIEM 

Though Sierra's crags enfold me 

Where tonight I sit alone; 
Though no human tongue hath told me, 

Yet I know that he is gone. 

For the winds that erst were sighing 
In the swaying boughs o'erhead, 

"He is dying! He is dying!" 
Now are moaning, "He is dead!" 

Till the clouds, symphonious roaring, 
Clasp the shiv'ring mountain round. 

Deep into the canyons pouring 
Monodies of mournful sound. 

Quick, recurrent fires go reeling 
Through the sable skies and light 

Earth's tumultuous breast, revealing 
All the storm's majestic might. 

And behold; with aspect solemn, 
High above, the god of war 

Leading forth an endless column 
Toward th' one unclouded star. 



GRANT— A REQUIEM 235 

Soldier spirits long have slumbered, 

Deaf to bugle, fife and drum, 
Waiting in their graves unnumbered, 

Waiting till the chief should come. 

On they sweep, a line unbroken, 
Through the sky with steady tread — 

Though no human tongue hath spoken, 
Thus I know that Grant is dead. 



236 SWORD AND CROSS 



SOLITUDE 

The black-winged tempest of the night 

Its wrathful course had run, 
And, like a tired child, the sea 

Slept in the noon-day sun. 

Far shoreward stretched the moor-lands wide, 

Marked by a single oak — 
The Storm King's fiery saber smote 

And killed it at a stroke. 

A barren beach swept to the right 

In long, low-swirling drifts, 
While gray and cold upon the left 

Uprose the beetling clififs. 

Before the sea so hushed and still, 

It only moved to sigh, 
And overhead the boundless blue 

Of an unclouded sky. 

The mellow sunlight on the land. 

The sunlight on the wave. 
The sea a-beat against the clifif 

Like Love against a grave. 



SOLITUDE 237 

On jutting crag a fish-hawk plumed 

His steel-blue, glassy coat, 
Then headlong plunged into the wave, 

The death-cry in his throat, — 

A cry that echoed far and wide; 

But one who soundly slept 
Where shelving beach and waters met, 

Unbroken silence kept. 

The sunlight in her clinging robe, 

The sunlight in her hair, 
The waters lisping at her feet 

Held all of life was there. 

No eye to weep, no voice to mourn. 

No touch of loving hand; 
All waxen-white and still she lay 

Alone upon the sand. 

The timid Zephyr nearer crept, 

And one, more kind and bold. 
Upraised her hair and vailed her face 

With half its wealth of gold. 

Alone she lay who yesterday 

Was half a city's pride, 
The queen of speechless solitude 

And desolation's bride. 



238 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE SIRE OF EIGHT 

A lonely bachelor I came 

Where homelike gardens fringed the town, 
And by a cozy hearthstone flame 

With loving friend I sat me down. 

Not forty, and eight times a sire. 
Nor forty, and nine voices sweet 
The blessed morning hymn to choir, 
The evening coming-home to greet. 

Four clinging girls, four sturdy boys. 
Each dearer than the Ophir mine, 

Not forty, and prospective joys 
Already multiplied by nine. 

The rose that bends beside his door, 
While but a single rose to me, 

Ten times for him it blooms and fades, 
Ere drifting to th' Eternal Sea. 

Ten hearts to throb with one's success, 
Ten heads to bow with grief of one; 

Oh, blessed wealth of tenderness! 
Oh, awful poverty of none! 



THE SIRE OF EIGHT 239 

Some lives are like a riven drum, 

Some glad as nesting robbin's mate — 

A lonely bachelor I come, 
To sit beside the sire of eight. 



JOHN ALBRO 

He found my muse — a wayward child, 

In pleasure romping where she would; 
A free-limbed daughter of the wild, 

Sans ribbon, bodice, shoon or hood. 
And led her by persuasive art 

To quiet ways and comely gown — 
Until (the wild-wood in her heart) 

She moves demurely in the town. 



240 SWORD AND CROSS 



CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE OLD HOMESTEAD 

From low-hung clouds of leaden gray 

The fluffy flakes came down 
Till every shrub and bush was gay 

In bridal wreath and gown; 
What time the moon, of gibbous form, 

Clear in the heaven stood 
Above the farm-house, sheltered warm 

By the embow'ring wood. 

About the valley, lily fair, 

The hills voluptuous swell, 
A lonely poplar here and there 

Keeps jealous sentinel; 
The spring brook, with a merry smile, 

Flings in old Winter's face. 
Then gaily glints beyond the stile 

And skips his cold embrace. 

The old folk by the chimney nook 

Think on the ones who roam, 
And lamps from every window look 

To light the absent home; 
Home! where they first, wee toddlers, crept 

Along the oaken floor. 
Where childhood laughed till manhood wept 

A parting at the door. 



CHRISTMAS EVE 241 

Of all the brood but one remains 

To cheer the parent nest, 
Support their age and soothe their pains — 

The youngest, dearest, best 
Of all the precious, treasured seven 

Who in their hearts abide — 
Though some are here and some in heaven — 

God keep him by their side. 

They come! The venerable pair. 

With kisses, tears and smiles, 
Give welcome to the strong and fair 

Who've scorned dividing miles 
To meet beneath the homestead roof; 

Grandchildren trooping round 
In noisy play, without reproof. 

Make all the house resound. 

Now sinks the memory of care 

In Pleasure's golden sea; 
If Ned and Bess their favors share 

In shadow, where can be 
The harm? Shall cousins never kiss? 

The game of forfeits, ho! 
Decorum! such an hour as this 

Rules her its mortal foe. 

Five-summer Edna fairy tales 

With cousin Ralph would share; 
Maturely eight, his soul regales 

Itself on giant fare, 



242 SWORD AND CROSS 

Which Dick and Bird, ancients of ten, 

Demurely smile to hear, 
Half wishing they were young again 

To hold such trifles dear. 

But when the sturdy Welshman Ben, 

By years of service proved. 
Brings in a log two modern men 

Not easily had moved, 
And flings it crashing to the flames, 

Each to the chimney hies 
And hastily an ember names 

To watch it till it dies. 

Thus Yuletide hours all gaily fly 

Away on swallow wings, 
The merry laughter, swelling high. 

Is hushed as midnight rings; 
And round the fire, in varied groups, 

Are hung the chubby hose; 
Good-night! and hopeful childhood troops 

To innocent repose. 

O childhood! sinless as the flakes 

That kiss the clouds good-by! 
The memory of thee awakes 

The suppliant's dearest sigh; 
And wore I here a monarch's crown 

Above these thinning locks. 
How gladly would I cast it down 

To be a child in frocks. 



FATHER DAMIEN 243 



FATHER DAMIEN 

I stand uncovered by a grave 

Wherein a hero molds; 
Yet never battle-axe nor stave 
His hand embraced, nor weapon, save 

The touch that kindness holds. 



No sculptured column marks the place, 

But here by weeds o'ergrown, 
With patient care I faintly trace, 
"The savior of our stricken race." 
Carved in a cross of stone. 



What loving fingers held the knife 

That spelled this ragged line? 
Though they had every soil to wife 
I'd give a twelvemonth of my life 
To clasp them once in mine. 



For one beneath this ivy sleeps 
The world shall longer know 
Than any name the New World keeps. 
Than any e'er from Alpine steeps 
Rang o'er a conquered foe. 



244 SWORD AND CROSS 

His acts pales all heroic deeds 

Though Homers twenty sung them; 
The isle Unclean! Alas the needs 
Of those on whom that vampire feeds! 
Serene he moved among them, 

And braved a death which e'en in thought 

Appalls our every sense; 
Day after day in patience wrought 
For those whose lightest touch is fraught 

With woeful pestilence. 

The blue-rimmed ocean shut him in 

From all his nobler kind; 
Abandoned in that Isle of Sin, 
By horrors haunted, there to win 

To hope the hopeless mind. 

The ships that sailed in silence by 

Must e'er anew have stirred 
The memories which could not die, 
The joys of home, love's tender sigh, 

The greeting smile and word. 

There could he sit with trusty friends 

At close of winter day, 
And join the cheer that converse lends 
To social mirth when wisdom bends 

To wit's delightful play — 



FATHER DAM I EN 24S 

If so he dreamed none ever knew; 

The ties of earth were riven — 
Priest, brother, nurse, he loved and drew 
His charge to love him and renew 

Their faith and hope in Heaven. 

No marble marks his resting place, 

By ivy overgrown; 
But here with patient care I trace, 
"The savior of our stricken race," 

Cut in a cross of stone. 



246 SWORD AND CROSS 



M'CULLOUGH 

Grand as the eagle in soaring flight 
Sweeping the mountain's brow; 
Grand as Ocean when storm-mad night 
Hurls wave on wave till they're crested white; 
Grand as the prairie whose boundless sweep 
Is giant rhythm, or still as sleep 

On the brow of death. What pow'r hadst thou 
To wake our frenzy or win our tears! 

"Virginia! Virginia!" I hear thee now, 
Though still thy voice as the Roman years. 



JAMES 247 



JAMES 

Name's Jim, Jim Burke. 
Am I lookin' fur work? 
Can't say et' I am. 
Ain't much' uv a lamb — 
Got any employ? 
JDon't want it, old boy, 
Leastwise not now — 
How? 

Sit down, ye shall hear — 
Ho, waiter, s'm beer — 
Can ye see in the shade 
The mark 'et uz made 
By the ball an' chain? — 
The Gov'ment rein 
'S been drawed on me 
An' ye must agree 
'T thar's reason enough 
Why I should be tough 
But none et all 
Why I should crawl 
In the wake uv a clown. 
My back bowed down 
By a load o' brick, — 
I'd do et 'an quick 
But whar's the use; 
I kin Stan' abuse 



248 SWORD AND CROSS 

A durned sight better when et's 

deserved. 
Uv course, I hev served 
Time, 

Not in this clime, 
But the mark is heie, 
Burned deep. Mebbe queer, 
But you are the fust — 
Here waiter's your dust, — 
What'll ye have? Don't drink? 
Well, here's what I think 
O' you 'ristocrat bloods 
With yer trim-cut duds 
An' yer milk-sop ways, 
I would smash y' all 
As I smash this glass — 
H'm, let that pass. 
Good? away back thar — 
If y' knew o' the load 
'Et a man must bear 
Who starts in the world 
Like a sail half furled, 
'Thout perfession ur trade: — 
Hev ye heard the sound that is 

sometimes made 
By the wind in the trees 

when the leaves is wet? 
If ye have, I'll bet 
The whole o' my kit 
That ye can't fergit 



JAMES 249 

How it kind o' softened your heart 

an' set 
Yer mind on the days o' the 

apple bloom 
An' the woods an' the brook an' 

the partridge boom, 
An' the wild strawberry hid deep in 

the grass, — 
What's that! did my elbow push 

that glass 
To the floor? 
Let it lie 
I 

Ain't usin' the stuflf no more. 
D'ye hear! 
No, keep your talk. 
Let's walk, 
An' you may introduce me to your 

work, 
Me, Jim Burke. 
The same's 
From this time for'ard t' be called James. 



250 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE MAESTRO 

In bare, uncurtained room he sat, 
An old man, hollow-eyed and thin, 
And listless stroked his violin. 

From country lane a vagrant breeze 
Came by and tossed into the room 
The fragrance of the clover bloom. 

With flashing eye and shaking mane, 

He stood erect a king of kings — 

His bow had touched the sleeping strings. 



KEELEY 

Close reef that name, each added title trim, 
What matter titles to a man like him! 
The thing he did and not the words he said 
Will move a world to weep him when he's dead 



THE BATTERED OLD GRIP 251 



THE BATTERED OLD GRIP 

(Respectfully dedicated to Mr. Brenton R. Wells.) 

Dear comrade, once bright as the silk of the corn, 
Now shrunken and wrinkled, a subject of scorn. 
Your trappings, once brilliant, now tarnished and 

scaled, 
The key long since lost and every clasp failed, 
Your sides fallen inward in gaunt hungry way, 
And rich russet color, dull, faded and gray; 
Ah! lightly through aisles of my memory trip 
A troop of bright fancies at sight of my "grip." 

Preparing to start on a journey, how oft 
I have taken it down from its place in the loft. 
Spread it wide at my feet with its back to the floor. 
With the thought — Will it hold all my things as be- 
fore? 
Friends tried often prove quite as cruel as kind, 
For words like to thistledown drift with the wind; 
But here's a companion ne'er gave me the slip — 
Always faithful and willing my battered old "grip." 

First a half-dozen shirts seem to fill up each side, 
Yet kerchiefs a dozen, scarfs tied and untie3, 
Pipe, razor and strop, cuflfs, collars and gloves, 
With a score of small knick-knacks tucked into the 

grooves; 
A clothes brush, pomade, a picture or two 



252 SWORD AND CROSS 

Of a dear little lassie to look at when blue, 
And mayhap a small phial containing a "nip." 
All snugly pack into the battered old grip. 

The great ocean steamer, with cabin and hold, 
Hangs the sign out at last "No more here enrolled," 
The street-car, capacity something immense — 
May sometimes refuse you a place for your pence; 
E'en the venerable stage, despite legend and lore. 
Not always can proffer the "room for one more," 
Yet truth has deserted the heart and the lip 
Of him who should say, "No more room in the grip." 

Slow out from the shadow sweet memories drift 
Through th' channels of thought — and its worn form 

I lift 
With a reverent touch while I think, with a sigh. 
Of the many dear treasures, in days are gone by, 
That have lain in its pockets and hid in its depths — 
A mother's admonishings, father's precepts. 
And others with token from maiden's pure lip. 
Read over and over — held place in the "grip." 

Though my hair is beginning to silver, I feel 

A rapturous youthfulness over me steal 

As I gaze at these dingy old covers and think, 

In my first manhood days, how I stood on the brink 

Of life's speeding river, and dreamed of and plann'd 

A home just the neatest and best in the land. 

Where a sweet face should greet me, returned from 

each trip. 
With a welcoming smile for myself and the "grip." 



THE BATTERED OLD GRIP 253 

God bless every stitch in the shrunken old leather 
That's borne me in safety through all kinds of 

weather 
To this island of peace which I now so enjoy, 
With my dear little wife, my girl and my boy! 
God bless it, I say, and in palace or cot, 
In wealth or in poverty — whate'er my lot — 
Though Fate from my savings all other things strip, 
I'll cling to you ever, dear battered old "grip." 



254 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE OLDEST O' THEM ALL 

You may see him any evening sitting just outside the 
door 

Of a pretty rural cottage that the vines have clam- 
bered o'er, 

And the pink and cherry blossoms slyly peep about 
him there, 

Like so many fairies playing hide-and-seek behind 
his chair. 

He's a lean and slippered figure and his step is far 
from light, 

There are furrows in his forehead and his hair is 
snowy white 

And his cheeks, like aged parchment, yellow, wrink- 
led, worn and grim — 

Yet not a drummer of them all but doffs the hat to 
him. 

He can sing (his voice will quaver) songs forgotten 

long ago. 
By the present generation, songs our fathers used 

to knowj 
And their rhythm quaint reminds you of a brook 

and falling leaves, 
And a maple-shadowed cottage with the swallows 

'neath the eaves. 
Then he'll tell you of adventures that will thrill your 

heart with fear. 
Or recount a world of stories you will laugh for 

hours to hear, 



THE OLDEST 0' THEM ALL 255 

While his eyes anew will sparkle 'neath his hat's ex- 
tended rim — 

There's not a drummer in the land but yields the 
palm to him. 

How his withered form will straighten as he "reck- 
ons" in his day 
"Thar wasn't many ©v um," when he felt inclin'd 

that way, 
"Wi the peart and smilin' lassies" that he met along 

the "raout," 
If he chose to show his samples "as could lay th' 

old man aout." 
He will call to mind the stage-coach with its flyers, 

six or more, 
"Faster than y're modern engines wi' their smoke an' 

dust an' roar 
Sweepin' round' the yawning canyons lighter than the 

swallows skim — " 
Oh! not a drummer in the land but doffs his hat to 

him. 

As evening shadows lengthen, if the breeze is blowing 
fair. 

From beneath his faded jacket he will take with ten- 
der care, 

A locket, worn and dented, wherein, framed in curls 
of gold, 

Is a face that to the "oldest" never, never will be old, 

And his aged eyes grow softer and more tremulous 
his tone 

While he tells you how since Anna died he's made 
the trip alone — 



2S6 SWORD AND CROSS 

And ere the tale's concluded other eyes than his are 

dim — 
There's not a drummer but is proud to doff the hat 

to him. 

Half the legends of a century, safe hidden in his 

breast, 
Come forward at his bidding, in the quaintest lan- 
guage drest; 
And he takes such pleasure in them that 'twould really 

be a crime. 
Not to listen and applaud them, though 'tis for the 

hundredth time. 
He's afloat upon life's ocean like a ship without a 

mast. 
All his blessings in the future, all his pleasure in 

the past. 
Let us thank him for this lesson, 'tis not strength of 

mind or limb, 
But a cheerful sunny spirit wins the hearts of all to 

him. 

The sun of life is sinking on the evening of his day. 
And his gentle spirit will ere long from earth have 

passed away; 
We shall miss the well-known figure from its seat beside 

the door. 
And the oldest trav'ler of them all will cheer our 

hearts no more; 
But a hundred thousand brothers still his memory 

will keep, 
While children laugh, or manhood strives, or broken 

households weep; 



AN ETCHING 257 

And oft on blustering winter nights, about the cheer- 
ing flame, 

Will heads be bowed and speech be hushed at men- 
tion of his name. 



AN ETCHING 

A grateful thought melodious sung 

To every heart if gay or sad; 
A spur to speed the sober good, 

A bit to curb the hasting bad; 
A bugle blast to him that stays, 

A dreamy harp to him who roams, 
A fresh, revolving April day 

In Life's dry summer — this is Holmes. 



258 SWORD AND CROSS 



DEWEY 

Not even Caesar, in his height of power, 
Won half so rich a country to his own 

As this plain man, whose spirit fills the hour. 
Whose name is known wherever speech is known. 

Ten thousand captives Caesar brought to Rome, 

Dewey brings naught but broken shackles home. 

So is the ancient prophecy fulfilled, 

The heel of love has crushed the serpent's head. 
A nation's wealth, a nation's blood, is spilled 

That stranger feet a smoother way may tread. 
The treasure Dewey won across the sea 
Is heaven's charge — another race is free. 



A TROUBLED CONSCIENCE 259 



A TROUBLED CONSCIENCE 

'Twas but a glance, a hurried glance 

Into a long, low, stifling room, 
Where belts and wheels and spindles dance— 
A place of sighs, of prison gloom, 
A murky atmosphere wherein 
Float hope-dead faces, wan and thin. 

A plague on shops! I close and close 

My eyes, and yet I cannot sleep 
Nor banish from my pillow those 
Who labor for a beggar's keep. 
Is't true that some are born to bear 
And some to ride? Why should I care? 

The rose a-bloom on yonder vine 

Has no regret because this tree 
Flames in the grate — and both are mine — 
If fortune choose to favor me. 
Must I be robbed of my repose 
The' others have nor flame nor rose? 

Great God! to breathe in such a place — 
Yet there be those to do this work — 
For me I'd welcome death, disgrace, 
Bar mountain pass with brigands dirk, 
Or ere I'd toil in such a den — 
Ah! shall I ever sleep again? 



260 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE COUNTRY TERRIBLE. 

There's a country that's dark with innumerable shad- 
ows, 
Which over its valleys hang threat'ning and low; 
The verdue is withered and dry in its meadows, 
Its hills and its forests are bare unto baldness, and 
bitter and black waters flow — 

Yet men will go 

To this land of woe, 
Will seek through years for the gate that leads 
To this home of pain — by bloodier deeds 
Than ever were done by the hands of men. 
By treacheries shameful, again and again. 
Till they wade knee-deep through a flood of ^ears, 
Destroying the pleasure that Truth endears, 
Aye, crush and trample, and cruelly kill. 
And hew their way with a giant's will — 
A giant's will and a madman's strength. 
Till they come, blood-red, to the gate at length, 
Which Satan all gleefully backward rolls. 
While he bows and smirks to the poor damned souls, 

And they enter in. 

To the hell of sin. 
Where want and pestilence, hand in hand, 
Go stalking forever — 'tis Drunkard's Land. 



UNCLE SAM TO THE PHILIPPINES 261 



UNCLE SAM TO THE PHILIPPINES. 

All crimson are these hands of mine 

With blood of sons of thine? 
Upon thy sands all darkling runs 

The warm, red blood of mine. 

Thou art a savage, wild and fierce? 

Lo, I am fiercer still; 
Of Roman, Briton, Celt and Dane 

Compounded is my will. 

The blood of thine is on my hands? 

The East is streaked with red, 
Where coming day has kissed the clouds — 

And thou, thou hast my dead! 

I slay and slay? The crowning star 

On Freedom's lifted brow 
Was born from flash of clashing steel; . 

Shall I desert her now? 

If thou art savage, brave, and strong, 

More brave and strong am I; 
Thy children's children shall be free. 

Though half my subjects die. 



262 SWORD AND CROSS 



LOVE'S CHILD 

The rose that blooms in forest shade 
To please the pretty deer and wild 
Is God's own child; 
But thou who on my heart art laid — 
Sweet rose of love — alone can cheer 
My clouded and forsaken world. 
O may thy leaves be never furled, 
But hold the smile of Heaven near 
That I may see its glory shine — 
God's child and mine. 



AUTUMN 263 



AUTUMN 

The leaves are bronze in the autumn air, 
Now blushes the apple, and mellow the pear, 
The grape hangs purple the vines among. 
The brooklets murmur with silv'ry tongue; 
The squirrel chatters, low pipes the wren; 
The partridge solemnly drums in the fen; 
The speck'd quail calls from the orchard wall — 
The spell of Autumn is over all. 

The fruit peeps forth as the blossoms go — 
Your locks, now, white as the April snow. 
Were brown in the shadow and gold in the sun 
In that first grand Autumn when. Summer done 
Our young hearts gladdened with hope's sweet 

wine — 
You looked in my eyes and the world was mine, 
With never a cloud in the sky above, 
And Everywhere wrapped in the robes of love. 

O, sweet and tender the words we said. 
While laden branches bent down o'erhead — 
And your lips met mine — how the ripe fruit roll'd 
All about our feet — and the tale was told. 
Ah! you were a picture most fair to see, 
With cheeks like the bloom of the wild crab tree. 
And lips red-ripe and sweeter by far 
Than peach and pear and strawberries are. 



264' SWORD AND CROSS 



The years have fled with their joys and pains— 
Our cheeks are furrowed with life's fierce rains; 
But the path we've trod, as I look behind, 
Seems all with beautiful flowers entwined; 
Young hearts are beating with hope today, 
We've watched and guided in Duty's way, 
And the vine-clad mounds, where the daisies nod, 
Are only the gateways that lead to God. 

The brown nuts open when frost appears. 

The dark hair silvers with passing years. 

The flowers must wither, the grass lie dead, 

Turn feeble and falt'ring the strong man's tread; 

The bloom fade out of the smiling rose. 

The strong oak bow when the storm king blows; 

Some fruits will ripen, some, blighted, fall. 

But the leaves of Autumn dance over all. 



GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN 265 



GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN 

A general with love for sword, 

A comrade always true, 
A sun to light the turbid ford 

Were passing through. 

A heart wherein a mocking bird 

Has made eternal nest 
And sings all song, the latest heard, 

Still seeming best. 

A spirit gentle, patient, fond, 

Yet brave as Castelar, 
That looks with simple faith beyond 

Hope's farthest star. 

Brave, noble heart, through grief to see 

A glad yet peaceful place 
Where discord dies for you and me — 

Truth named thee Grace. 



266 SWORD AND CROSS 



THE DUTY SERGEANT 

Fate is but a pompous shadow 

That dissolves before "I will," 
Though you follow in the hollow 

You may lead upon the hill. 
Stress of strife, or weight of sorrow. 

By these tests alone we know — 
Captain he may be tomorrow 

Who today receives the blow. 

Patient toil, unending kindness, 

Eyes that see another's grief, 
Feet that spring to succor blindness. 

Hands that stretch to give relief. 
These are soldiers of a sergeant, 

Duty sergeant strong and grand, 
Some day on his shield the argent 

Of commander clear will stand. 



THE SPIRIT OF TRUTH 26V 



THE SPIRIT OF TRUTH. 

How strange a spirit this that men 
Are pleased to call Religion. 

If 
'Twere possible to fix upon 
The mirror of the mind her form, 
With all her features circumscribed — 
If this might be and faith still live — 
How easy, then, to welcome Truth 
And do her timely reverence. 
But as the fire-fly in the night, 
Flames for an instant and is gone, 
So 'tis Religion glows and dies 
And glows again, or near or far, 
To disappear and leave no trace 
Whereby the mind may follow her. 
O tantalizing light that leads 
The hope into bewilderment. 
And to the verge of madness drives 
The soul of speculation. 

She 
Who yesterday was queen indeed, 
Decked out with jewels, robed in silks, 
And in her hand a precious wand, 
The scepter of authority, 
Today appears clothed all in rags, 
And shame-faced seeking darkest way, 
And hiding every healthful sign, 



268 SWORD AND CROSS 

Pleads whiningly her woes. 

One hour 
All wisdom, next a grinning clown, 
Then seemingly of both combined, 
She shows like unregenerate Turk 
Still glutinous of evil deeds. 
Again a sweet, artistic cheat. 
With tear-moist eye, and voice as sad 
And plaintive-tuned as dove's amid 
The screening boughs of leafy wood. 
Repeating tale so pitious sad 
That tears upon the flinty pave 
Must give it lasting character. 
So comes she in a thousand shapes, 
Which, if the least we do deny. 
Our conscience pricks us with the thought — 
This one was Truth, indeed, and you 
Upon the Christ have shut thi door 
To your damnation. 

Comes anon 
Another, plain and simply clad. 
But beaming sweetly on the world. 
In action free as Joan when. 
Inspired of God, she fearless faced 
The bearded regiments and led 
Her legions on to victory. 
But sword nor shield doth she require 
To give her proper dignity; 
The rustle of an angel's wing. 
Straight come from heav'n to soothe a grief, 
Hath harsher music than her voice 



THE SPIRIT OF TRUTH 269 

While minist'ring to those distrest. 
Lo, from the beaten path of sin 
She leads the fallen, tenderly, 
And sets the weary, wayward foet 
Again on Virtue's dewy green 
To wander never more. 

Her gaze 
Is like a sunbeam kissing tombs 
Within the confines of a pile 
Else wrapped in gloom. 

So gliding on, 
Not prating of what should be done, 
Nor questioning why clouds are here, 
Or whence they came, she tries all arts 
To banish them till skies are bright 
And sunshine floods the world. 

I care 
Not how she may be gowned, if silk 
Or cotton clothe her, she's not robed 
With purpose to betray. 

I know 
The dome of heaven's none too High 
To roof the church wherein she learned 
Her saving creed; to cheer, not chide. 
Her simple article of faith. 
I stand uncovered where she is. 
Because I know from these, her works, 
That Christ hath triumphed o'er the grave 
And lives to bless and save the world. 



DEC 18 1899 



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